Q & A Horror Stories?

Caution Advised
This thread may include adult content including violence, strong language or nudity, readers' discretion is advised.

Chase

Director
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Boss (situational)
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536373
Share some horror stories, something your character or someone they know experienced. Tales may be inspired by real events, but preferably, tell it to us in the form of fiction. Stories are not limited to time of year or theme. If it was horrific to your character it's worth telling.

It's close enough to Halloween, so I figured this was worth asking in the 'Character Building' section.
 

Charlet

little red riding hood ? v.i.l.e.
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Letty
Little red riding hood
Carmenette
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I saw my mama get excuted by a firing squad. I was running To find her and she smirked at me before they gunned her down,

(( That’s charlet’s mother’s Titus’s canon death))
 

Tenchi Masaki

ACME Detective, Rookie
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It’s a dark and stormy night. The rain is coming down heavy and there is low level thunder rumbling through the sky.

*Tenchi is patiently waiting for the phone call he just dialed to be answered* A female with a thick New York accent picks up“Ray’s Occult we close 7:00 on weekdays, midnight on Saturdays, now leave me alone.” “It’s me Kylie, Tenchi“ With slightly more investment she said “Moshi moshi Tenchi. what do you want?” ”I want to run a report by you I’m going to send to ACME. It’s about a yokai that has dark hair and pale skin.” “So basically a demon that looks like me? Now I’m actually interested.” “Good!” I replied ”So get ready for a scary story on this dark and stormy niiiight, ooooh“ “Don’t make me punch you through this phone Tenchi.” Sighingly I Said “Okay Ms. Goth here goes...”
 
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Tenchi Masaki

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Report is submitted for review by ACME Detective Agency
by Tenchi Masaki

Brrrzt! Report transmitting...
(Names have been changed to protect the parties involved)

I've received reports from my grandfather Lord Katsuhito Masaki saying school children are seeing a tall woman in a white dress who appears suddenly and starts saying ''Po... Po... Po... Po... Po.'' We both had a handful of suspects but it was too soon to make an I.D. We quickly tracked down the specific child who saw the woman. I asked him ''ow tall was she?'' The detectives from the local precinct knew where this was going and wanted other questions asked.

Detective Omura sternly said speaking more to the officers under his command instead of two independent Shinto spirit detectives ''We need an actual description of the suspect, not one detail about her height.'' He said causing the other detectives to immediately nod along as if they were loyal dogs. The boy however pointed to a wall and said that he saw a white wide-brimmed hat behind it. He then started repeating ''Po... Po... Po... Po... Po... Po... Po...'' We both knew then the suspects name... Hachishaku-sama the yokai who steals children away. The other officers were instantly silenced from their routine chatter and knew they were dealing with a yokai.

Omura tried to once again take control of the situation and reminded the boys parents that yokai are just a myth and they do not need to worry about ghost stories. This being an official investigation all my grandpa and I could do was tell the boys parents the solution so I said ''You must put him in his room and he must not leave until 7:00 am tomorrow morning. Cover the windows with newspaper and write these runes on them. Place four bowls of salt, one in each corner of the room and a Buddha statue on a box in the center and then lock the door.'' The parents decided not to heed our advice and went away with the other police officers.

A few days later the mother of the boy and her daughter came to see us. She was white with fear and told us in a shaky voice "In the night before my son went missing I heard a strange sound... Po... Po... Po... Po... Po... It sounded like a deep male voice but then a tall 8ft woman peered into our room her head was seen first but then her neck was long like a snakes and slowly retracting back to normal length as the rest of her body walked past with my son holding her hand. I could not move or even speak as if a force were paralyzing my body. suddenly I could move again and I awoke my husband, we rushed to the door but the woman and our son were gone.''

The mother started sobbing and then said ''Our front door was still locked and all the windows were closed as well we live on the 30th floor of an apartment building. The police don't know how this could of happened and we... I should have listened to you. Please tell me if my son can be saved or not!'' With that she completely broke down crying as if all her strength had been simply to get to us and say what had happened. I replied ''Hachishaku-sama was once sealed away in a small village in the country. She should not be hunting children anywhere else in Japan so the seal must have weakened. However there is a chance your son can be saved.

I think Hachishaku-sama needs to return to the village to fully kill your son, if true we have until then to save him.'' The daughter then introduced herself and said “My name is Tomomi, I am Shinji’s sister and I’m going with you. I have read all about yokai and seen a bunch of horror movies about them.” I told her that might be too dangerous but my grandpa unsurprisingly agreed since he likes cute girls, so we got into my grandpa's car and began to drive to this village. Arriving at a small ruined building on the outskirts of it we confirmed that the seal was weakening and that it had to be restored, but first we needed to find the boy.

The villagers were shuttered away in their homes and did not want to talk about the demon yokai. but we noticed something strange about one of the homes a little girl in a white dress and cute little hat was playing outside and her parents were sitting on chairs in the middle of the yard. I approached the parents and said “Do you know anything about the yokai Hachishaku-sama?” The parents both smiling the whole time both slowly turned their heads toward me simultaneously and stared for a few seconds before the father said “She used to appear in our village a long time ago until she was sealed away by the Jinzo statues and now she is gone.” I replied “Well she is back here with a boy named Shinji. We are wondering have you seen him?”

I showed a picture of the boy to them and the mother took it and began to lick the picture slowly before she said “We have not seen him dear. Only our daughter Kurai plays outside these days and you need to leave before the sun goes down tonight. Our village has a traditional gathering and outsiders are not allowed to attend... unless invited.” We decided to camp out In secret and crash this little party of theirs, and sure enough all the villagers began to slowly emerge from their homes and wander to an area near the ruined building.

The wind that had been blowing through the tree leaves stopped suddenly. Then having noticed someone familiar Tomomi shouted “There’s Shinji!” I covered her mouth so she could not alert people to our presence. The people as if in a trance started to kneell on the ground and then appearing from the night Hachishaku-sama Walked forward toward the children who had gathered together in front of the adults. Shinji reached for Hachishaku-sama and she started to reach out her long pale white hand towards him.

My grandpa had seen enough and decided it was time to make our move (mostly because he wanted to impress Tomomi). We sprung from our hiding places and confronted the demon! My grandpa and I drew our bokken made of sacred Hinoki wood and moved towards our foe. Hachishaku-sama was as I was told: An 8ft tall slender woman with a wide-brimmed hat and a white dress her waist-length jet-black hair Covered her face except for the part in the middle revealing her nose and mouth.

Knowing yokai tend to move erratically we came at her in an almost flanking position from each side. Suddenly without warning she lunged for me by stretching her head in my direction! Grandpa moved in and went for her waist with an attack while I warded off her head which wasn’t easy since she was bobbing and slightly recoiling to try to get a better position. But it was no use we started to drive her back toward the sealing location and began to strengthen the seal once more. I told Tomomi “Grab Shinji and get back!” Quickly Tomomi grabbed Shinji and also took Kurai back away from the fight.

Hachishaku-sama gathered what strength she had left and prepared to attack but my grandpa dashed forward and impaled her with his bokken. He then spin kicked her into the building. Me and Tomomi rushed forward and moved the Jinzo back to their proper locations and together me and my grandpa restored the seal trapping Hachishaku-sama inside. Suddenly the wind started gently blowing again and the villagers began to come to their senses. The parents of Kurai were the first to rush to their child and thank us for saving her. Tomomi was a little more grateful to me at least, kissing me on the cheek.

Soon the police arrived... and so did Det. Omura after ordering his men to set up a perimeter he approached us with his usual scowling look when we solved a case before him. “Why am I not surprised to find you two here!?“ He said doing his best to keep his composure. Feeling my inner smart ass take control I remarked ”Because you have finally embraced your psychic abilities?” With that Tomomi burst out laughing and Omura really wanted to beat my ass right then and there but a whole crowd of reporters and press were filming so he decided to be his usual hard ass self.

“This is an official police investigation! All witnesses will be interviewed by the proper authorities! All information regarding this case will be disseminated to the press at OUR discretion! Any outside sources of information are mere rumors and hearsay! The only OFFICIAL story is the one I authorize! This ruined building will be searched along with all other suspect properties! Until which time, the children will be in custody of the state so their parents can be questioned!

This didn’t exactly make people happy and they started to shout that. Hachishaku-sama would be freed just to be cut off by Omura using a bullhorn “SILENCE!!!, I AM THE LAW NOT YOU! THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS YOKAI! AND WHEN WE FIND THIS SERIAL KIDNAPPER THIS CASE WILL BE CLOSED!”

Now the officers started shooing the press away from the areas they wanted to investigate and other officers started taking the kids to police cars and vans to be driven to a child welfare location For a few days. Shinji and Kurai were holding hands this entire time and did not want to be separated. Not that Omura cared of course, and he proceeded to take Kurai and place her into his back seat. Shinji reached out toward Kurai but she was quickly driven away by Omura. We heroes three proceeded to make the best of this situation and alleviate the villagers fears saying Omura is a hard ass but he’s a good cop and was only interested in solving the case as fast as possible (even though it had already been solved by us).

After we waited for Tomomi‘s questioning to finish we left with Shinji to take him back home to his parents. The ruined building was closed off for a pending search the next day and the officers charged with delivering the kids to child services started to drive off with Omura who saw no need to stick around for “grunt work” as he called it, and left that to the lower ranked officers. As he was driving it began to rain and he looked back at Kurai through the rear-view mirror and saw that she was scowling at him with bitter tears slowly trickling down her face. Omura the jerk that he is, found this slightly amusing and said to Kurai in a half-hearted manner “Why are you crying little girl? Was that boy your friend, or do you miss your parents already? You need to learn that girls can’t get everything they want, especially little boys they like.”

Suddenly the rain that had been coming down stopped and Omura heard a low sounding voice say Po........ Po........ Po........ Po........ Po. Slowly a long pale white hand came into view to the left side and in front of the windshield a head appeared Stretching from the back of the car. Omura was frozen in fear as Hachishaku-sama looked him straight in the eye as he heard her say......... Po.

TO BE CONTINUED?
 
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Tenchi Masaki

ACME Detective, Rookie
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“Aannnd?” Kylie said intending me to finish. “Well, that’s all for now.” I said. “Spill it, Tenko!“ said Kylie trying to gain leverage in this conversation. “Don’t call me that!“ I said not expecting her to listen.

“I only said to be continued to refer to the next case report Det. Omura is alive but he’s in the hospital he told my grandpa what happened and then he told me. Now I’m tired and would like to go to sleep now, plus it’s raining here.” Well said Kylie “It’s raining here too, and I’m on my way home now and for sequel baiting me, your paying for this long distance call Mr. ACME detective.” I then told her “I’ll fill you in on the rest when we actually get more information about what happened until then Kylie take care of yourself.” “Like I need you to tell me that.” said Kylie as she walked into her apartment.

“Bye Tenchi sleep tight, don’t let the yokai bite.“ Kylie ended the call and the both of us figured everything would be as normal as it could be for us anyway.
END OF TRANSMISSION
 
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Tenchi Masaki

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Tenko(don't ask), Kami Jack, Guy Smart,
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035096
It has been raining heavily for two days with small breaks in between. Tenchi is busy typing away on his iPad finalizing what has happened in the last two days (hopefully before Halloween)


Report is submitted for review by ACME Detective Agency
by Tenchi Masaki

Brrrzt! Report transmitting...
(Names have been changed to protect the parties involved)

My grandpa Lord Katsuhito Masaki woke me up today and said we still had things to do. I said “What things? We got Tomomi‘s brother Shinji back and the police are handling the villagers.” My grandpa simply responded as he was leaving my room “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

Getting up I realized I probably should take my tako staff with me this time and brought it along. Since it was raining my cyber umbrella would be going as well. We headed to the hospital and while on the way I called Tomomi to check up on her family. She said “We are doing fine and things are returning to normal! Thank you for saving my brother Tenchi-chan! Oh and Shinji wants to see you again and he also wants to see Kurai.

I told her “Maybe we could schedule play dates for them a bit later if her parents wanted.” She said “That’s so sweet of You Tenchi! Talk to you later!” We arrived at the hospital and went to Det. Omura’s room. When he saw us he told us what had happened.

“I was driving Kurai to the welfare agency and she turned into a yokai and attacked me. I swerved off the road to the side and the officers who were driving along with me drove over and ran to me. They all saw the yokai and fired at her but our bullets did nothing. When the yokai disappeared all we saw was Kurai on the ground crying. We brought her here with me she’s in the children’s ward I bumped my head and injured my arm but nothing serious enough to put me in a room.

They only did this because of my rank in the police, it’s embarrassing.“ We had no problem believing that since everyone in the police called him Rock because he was a tough, hard ass, no nonsense cop. This would shatter that image quite thoroughly. But we reassured him We’d get to the bottom of this.

Heading to Kurai’s room we saw she was curled up in the corner we knew she was showing signs of being haunted and inspected the room. My grandpa said “Tenchi see the walls? The cracks are slowly growing and the temperature is steadily falling.” “Yes grandpa” I replied I think a piece of Hachishaku-sama was left in Kurai in case she got sealed again. That way she could use Kurai as a portal to still get out.

“Precisely” My grandpa said “So we now have to exorcize Kurai to fully seal away Hachishaku-sama.” With that we began the exorcism which simply involved my grandpa placing his hand on Kurai’s back and me holding a sealing container up to her mouth. When my grandpa said the incantation what was left of Hachishaku-sama was expelled through Kurai’s mouth into the container freeing her from the hold of the demon. “This never stops being gross grandpa“ I said after putting the lid on the container. I extended my Tako staff to use as a carrying stick for the containers handle since I didn’t want to hold it with my hands longer than I had to.

“Man up Tenchi.” My grandpa had Kurai’s parents called in and we were able to return her to them since they had been questioned by the police already. I asked them about setting up play time with Shinji and they said it would be fine, especially since they were moving from the cursed village to a place which was near where Shinji lived. Alls well that was ending well we decided to go back home and log this yokai incident down, Knowing it wouldn’t be the last.
(Report downloaded rate... 100%)

Brrrzt!... End of report transmission... Signing off... Powering down...
 
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Tenchi Masaki

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Quite a read, @Tenchi Masaki, I enjoyed it. Although, formatting seems to have gotten lost in the process, might be easier to read if the story was separated into proper paragraph.
Wow! What happened? The first post is a wall of text as intended but the last post posted weird. Sigh I’ll fix what’s posted before I continue. I was literally typing it out to make Halloween deadline. Final post is 45% done and then I have to go back to format it right after.

(Edit) Okay formatting fixed and the story is complete now.
 
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Claire Yeon

V.I.L.E.
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Not Claire, but someone close to her. Warning: Domestic violence, homophobia.

From the memoirs of Felicia Mohs, compiled by Claire Yeon, her longtime student, associate, and friend, and by Emily Rutledge, her life partner of thirty-seven years. Published posthumously by the Never Again Foundation, a New York City-based nonprofit focused on providing women with support and resources to leave abusive relationships at the first signs.

We met in the summer of 1971, at the open bar in a mutual friend’s East Village loft. The occasion was the successful landing of Apollo 15 on the moon. I doubt anyone there cared overmuch about the space program, but the host was a distant cousin of Jim Irwin and never passed up an excuse to throw a party. The drink of the night was, appropriately, the Moonwalk: grapefruit, orange liqueur, and a few drops of rose water topped off with champagne. I was on my second when he came up to me and said I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. I admit that I liked what looked back at me in the mirror every morning, but I was also clever enough to recognize a line when I saw it. I had a method of weeding out potential suitors who weren’t up to my standards, so I began to pick his brain on such unladylike topics as the Pentagon Papers, the construction of the World Trade Center and its implications for New York and the world economy once it opened, and the recent ratification of the Twenty-sixth amendment. To my surprise and delight, he proved to be a lively debate partner whose wit, charm, and impassioned arguments met mine at every turn. At the end of the night - and the bottom of my fourth Moonwalk - we exchanged contact information and made plans to meet in a few days.

In the beginning, our relationship was everything the halcyon days of young love ought to be. How beautiful the city looked in the light of our happiness, and how its streets rang with our laughter! My heart would swell with pride when he put his arm around me in public. If the glares he shot at other men when we were together were a bit pointed, what of it? He knew he was the only one for me. We weren’t living together, but we might as well have been. He had a key to my place and a drawer in the bedroom. I barely noticed that my other relationships were suffering because I spent so much time with him. When one friend said she hadn’t seen me in weeks, I brushed it off as jealousy. Other people just didn’t understand. They couldn’t. Our love was as rare as it was powerful. Nothing like it had ever existed before, nor ever would again.

The first conscious realization I had that something was wrong was when I was admitted to law school. I thought he’d be happy for me, but he couldn’t understand why I thought I needed to continue my education. I already had a master’s degree in art history, which was more than any woman needed to begin with - and not even in something of any value. How were we supposed to start a life together if I was off with my head buried in dusty tomes in an attempt to break into a field where I wasn’t even wanted? He wanted me, and that should have been good enough. During one heated argument on the topic, he became so angry he threw a glass on the floor, where it immediately shattered. The fight stopped at once. He bent to pick up the pieces, stammering over and over about how sorry he was and that he hadn’t meant it. His hands were shaking so much he ended up cutting himself on the shards, so I told him to take a walk and that I would clean up. By the time he returned, the blood and glass were gone, and so was his anger. If it meant I wouldn’t leave him, he would allow me to go to law school. Someone had mentioned the “a” word to me once, but that was insane - it wasn’t abuse, obviously, because he was sorry, he supported my decision, and he said we were going to start a life together. Abusers didn’t do that.

Two months went by without an outburst, and most of the time, he was the dashing gentleman who charmed me over Moonwalks the night of the lunar landing. What did it matter that he didn’t want me to wear high heels anymore because he didn’t like it when I was taller than him? Heels didn’t really become a woman of five foot ten anyway. And it was only natural that he’d be concerned if I was out studying until midnight. That was late, and anything could happen to a young woman walking home alone after dark. Then, one night, I made the mistake of correcting the assumption that I walked home alone by pointing out that two of my study partners, both men, lived a block and a half away, and they walked home with me. He became angry, called me such names. I didn’t want to risk another glass-breaking incident - he’d hurt himself and felt so badly after - so I told him that my feminine wiles would have no effect on them because when I said that they lived nearby, I meant that they lived nearby together, with each other. He stared at me for a moment, and when that horrible, repulsive, hate-filled look twisted his face, I knew he understood. The anger wasn’t directed at me, though, so it wasn’t abuse.

Nothing happened right away, but about a week later, my study partners stopped meeting with the rest of our group. We still saw them in class, but they were no longer sitting together. One day, the lecturer asked a question, and one of them offered up an answer. It was incorrect, which would have gone unregarded but for someone in the back of the room, who had never volunteered an answer all term, said in a carrying whisper: “What else would you expect from a…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to. A few people snickered, and some looked angry; most pretended not to hear even though they definitely did. I kept a straight face, but inside, I burned with humiliation. This was my fault. It may have been an open secret, but no one had said anything until I told him. Not long after, they both dropped out. Rumors spoke of a conversation with the dean of students where the words “conduct that does not align with the standards of behavior set forth by our esteemed institution” were mentioned. I wanted to hate him for it, but I could only hate myself. He was just trying to protect me, and since his intentions were good, it couldn’t possibly be abuse.

Life went on. I drifted apart from friends because any minute I wasn’t studying was spent with him - it was only fair because, as he reminded me often, he did so much for me and school already took so much time there was hardly any room for anything else. My grades began to suffer. I had thrived in the old study group with my peers, but he refused to let me join another one because, invariably, they were mostly men. He told me that if I spent too much time with them, something would happen, and they wouldn’t be able to stop themselves because I was just so beautiful. I came home one night to find him drunk and sobbing, a new hole in the plaster wall, because he missed me terribly and had to numb the pain somehow. His hand was in bad shape, so I took him to the hospital, where an X-ray revealed two broken fingers. I wept with him, said I was sorry that things were hard now, and promised they would get better. He said he believed me. After that, there were a few times where he hit walls, slammed doors, or broke dishes, but he never hurt himself like that again, and he never once raised a hand to me. That meant it wasn’t abuse.

In April of 1972, John Young and Charles Duke of Apollo 16 landed on the moon. It was an anniversary of sorts for us, since we met at the last moonwalk, and we decided to throw a party. The event wasn’t as grand as last summer’s East Village affair, but it was far more memorable, because it came on bended knee and declarations of eternal love. Of course I was going to say yes - I would have even without the audience, because I would never find someone like him again. I was, if you will pardon the pun, over the moon with happiness. Yes, there were a few times his face darkened in a way that concerned me, but we were going to be married. Things would be fine after that. They threatened to be fine ever sooner. When spring term ended, I didn’t perform as well in my final exams as I’d hoped. His idea of cheering me up was to announce he’d bought a home for us: a lovely little brownstone in Brooklyn, close to his work, complete with a coveted backyard, and we could move in at once. Not my first choice of address - it was almost a two-hour commute to and from school - but it was ours. I would find a way to deal with everything else.

When the fall term started, I was met with a surprise: my adviser had retired, and his replacement was the university’s first female law professor. I was in awe of her. She was one of the first women to graduate from Harvard Law School and had worked several high-profile cases. She invited me to her office for an introduction, which reignited my spark and love for learning. For a few weeks, I felt like myself again. However, the long commute from Brooklyn, the lack of a support system, and the constant demands on my attention at home proved too great to overcome. I was now missing classes and failing exams. She called me back into her office at the end of winter term to deliver an ultimatum: effective immediately, I was on academic probation, and if my grades did not improve in the spring, I would be dismissed. Me, the one who, until a year ago, had been at the top of every class since my playground days. I could hardly believe it. Neither could she, which made what came next was even worse.

It seemed my professor had taken a special interest in me. In his notes, her predecessor said I had started out strong, but as time went by, the quality of my work went down and I seemed to lose my focus. She wanted to know why. She examined my transcripts, test scores, and entrance exams, finding that I invariably received top marks in everything I attempted. My LSAT scores were by far the best of my entire admission class - something I had not dared to believe even at the height of my confidence. That I’d cheated was a possibility she had to consider, but no, cheating wasn’t consistent with the years and years of proven performance under the highest standards of quality control. She asked around a bit - not too much, just enough to form a vague idea as to the reasons behind the shifting trend. How, she wondered, had someone with so much potential found herself at risk of flunking out of law school? She had enough to go on to form an idea, but she wanted to hear my thoughts on the matter.

To this day, I’m not exactly sure how I ended up telling her the whole story. Lawyer guile, probably. I talked for almost an hour while she took notes, provided a gentle “mmm hmm” or “tell me more about that,” punctuated by the occasional probing question that always hit close to the mark, but never right on it, lest I raise my guard again and end the conversation. Finally, she stopped writing, and I stopped talking. She pushed her notes toward me. I looked at them, and then at her. We were both silent for a time, and then she voiced the most important question I had ever been asked: “Do you see the pattern here, Felicia?”

I did. And I knew what I had to do.

I practiced what I was going to say over and over again in my head the whole way home. I had to walk slowly and carefully up the steps of the brownstone, partly because they were dangerously icy in the mid-December freeze, and partly because the weight of dread was shackled to my feet like an iron ball and chain. Before I opened the door, I looked up. The half-moon shone brightly in the cloudless sky, oblivious to the happenings in the world below. At that very moment, somewhere on its surface walked the astronauts of Apollo 17. How fitting that a moonwalk was to coincide with another major milestone in our relationship.

The smell of roast beef and fresh-baked bread assaulted my senses as I opened the door. He was an excellent cook, and had never seemed to mind assuming that particular domestic duty. Did I thank him enough for that? Would things be different if I had? He greeted me warmly, rushed over to take my coat, kissed my cheek, and asked if I wanted a glass of wine now or preferred to wait until dinner was ready. I followed him into the kitchen, steeling myself for what was inevitable and necessary. Of course, this had to be the side of him I saw today, the very thing that would make me doubt my resolve and wonder if all the things I’d said in my adviser’s office were really accurate. He bustled about the stove, took lids off and on pots, asked me to pass a spoon with a please and thank you, and relayed the significant events of his day. I couldn’t look at him, so I looked down. Next to the sliding glass door leading out to our small backyard was a spool of barbed wire. He’d bought it weeks ago to put around the top of our fence for security, after one of the neighbors had a break-in. Seeing it reminded me of how it was just like him: how it could protect you on the right side, but get on the wrong side, and it would rip you to shreds. I was ready. I was done.

I said his name, and something in my tone must have conveyed the gravity of the situation, because he immediately stopped what he was doing and gave me his undivided attention. I said my piece, took the ring off, and set it on the counter. At first, he didn’t do anything but stare. I started to back away, said my father and brothers would be along in a day or two to collect my things, and I would prefer that he not attempt to contact me. The storm broke. He was incredulous at first, then angry, and then sobbing hysterically. Didn’t I know how much he loved me, that he’d given me everything, and that it would destroy him completely if I were to leave? How could I be so cruel, so selfish, so stupid to walk away from the life we were building together? How could I do this to him? To us?

And then he was throwing things. I dodged the spoon, and the first pot lid, but not the second. It struck me in the middle of the forehead, and I stumbled backwards, dazed. Suddenly he was on top of me, fists flying. One punch was all it took to drop me the rest of the way to the floor, and from there, he started kicking me in the stomach. If he couldn’t have me, no one could. Through the haze of blood, pain, and spinning stars, I saw him go for the barbed wire.

I tried to run, tried to stand, but I only made it halfway, which just made it easier for him to wrap the cord of steel and spikes around my neck. Agony beyond what I thought was possible overwhelmed my senses and drove all reason from my mind. I didn’t know how I was going to escape, only that I must. I couldn’t see through the haze of pain, but I had the vague idea that he was standing behind me, which meant his knees were about at the level of my flailing arms. I fought to regain control of my mind, and I knew had to do something - right now - or I would never do anything again. I gathered what strength yet remained in me, and drove my elbow into the side of his knee. I don’t know if I actually hurt him, but at the very least, it startled him enough to make him slacken his grip. It was all the opening I needed to slip out from under him. I couldn’t stand, but I could crawl. I could escape.

I used one hand to feel my way to the door, the other to stem the flow of blood spouting from my throat. It took a few tries to find and turn the doorknob, but I did it, and the blast of frigid winter air that hit me was the most welcome sensation I’d ever experienced. I tumbled onto the landing, and down the icy steps. Once I hit the sidewalk, both hands went to my neck. Blood streamed through my fingers in rivulets. My vision started to drift into focus, then back out, and then in again. A dark blur was growing more solid - was it him? No, there were two of them. A woman screamed, and then a man’s voice: “Go! Get help! Now!” The last thing I saw as my eyes rolled into the back of my head was the moon. I would be walking with them soon...

It was the moon again that met me when I came back around, or at least, I thought it was. I found out later it was actually the lights of a surgeon’s operating table. The next thing I remembered was a voice: a new one, a strange one, and one to whom I would be eternally grateful. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable now," the voice sighed. "I’m afraid she’ll have the scars for life.”

I tried to smile. I don’t know if I managed it, but I tried. She’ll have the scars… for life.

I was going to live.
 
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Chase

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Not Claire, but someone close to her. Warning: Domestic violence, homophobia.
Intensely written, well crafted, and a story that we can probably say is inspired by true events. Somewhere, some when, something like this happened to someone.
 

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