Here, I, would like to showcase all you up and coming authors/authoress's by
allowing you to have your dark writings displayed here for all to read.
To have your own horror stories placed here, all you need to do is send me 
your story as well as your name and site address (if you have one). You will
then have your story placed upon it's own page, if you wish, you may also 
include a short biography to go at the base of your story. Needless to say 
your stories shall be credited to you. 

- The White Wood Shadows -

I'm Megan Fischer, I'm 22 years old and I work the nightshift at a small all night 
diner downtown as a waitress. The pay isn't that great but it handles the bills. I 
live alone in an apartment, a few blocks from the restaurant. I take weekend classes 
at the local community college where I study child development, in the hopes of one 
day owning my own daycare center. I'm good with kids, always have been. In fact, several
mothers I've babysat for in the past have said I have a innate gift to understand and
comfort children.
My apartment is so close to work that I can walk home in ten minutes. There's White 
Wood Park between and I always take the two-block path through it and up the steps at 
the other end. It's very secluded, as the stone-cobbled path is in a recessed valley, 
surrounded by trees of all kinds.
On this particular morning, it's after 3AM and I had just gotten off the 6PM shift. 
The next shift came and I start out the door for my walk home. As I was about to let 
the door swing closed behind me, Joe, my boss and head cook stopped me before I could
exit. The air was cool and I was dressed for it in a sweater over my work clothes. 
Joe only had on a white t-shirt and denim jeans and he rubbed his shoulders as the 
breeze hit him in the doorway.
"Cold morning out, Megan. You know I could walk you home, if you want. It's slow at 
this hour and Sherry can watch it for a few minutes 'till I see you're safe," Joe said.
"Nonsense, Joe. I'll be fine. I've walked home through the park like this for three 
years without a problem."
Joe looked nervously out at the park across the street and continued talking.
"Well, you must've been seeing the latest reports about 'The White Wood Stalker.' He 
claimed his fourth victim two days ago and today was your first day back since the 
weekend, so you might've missed the latest victim. Three of his victims were just kids 
under twelve years old. The victim was an eleven year old girl, her body found mutilated 
in the underbrush in White Wood Park. Why she was out delivering papers at that hour, 
unescorted, is beyond me. The other victim was a 19 years old college girl. It's very 
dangerous for women or children to walk through there alone, especially at this time of 
day."
"Joe please don't worry. I appreciate your concern, really I do but I don't need to be 
worried about." I open my purse and pull out my pepper spray, "if some nutcase tries 
anything, pow! right in the face."
"Well, okay then Meg. But please be careful. Besides that, you're my best waitress. I 
wouldn't want to lose that smile of yours which attracts so many customers," Joe says 
with a slight smirk.
"Oh shush Joe. Now get back inside before you freeze your sticky buns off," I say and 
we both smile as the door swings closed behind me.
As I cross the street to the empty park, I can see Joe looking after me with an almost 
paternal concern. After walking around the first bend of the path, the trees envelope
me in their shadows and the diner can no longer be seen. A gust of wind sends a cold 
shiver down my spine and I instinctively fold the collar of my sweater over my neck.
It's autumn and the signs are all about. The trees are all shedding their now brownish
orange leaves, which are covering the path from end to end. There is a cool, yet not 
cold as it will in a few weeks, breeze in the air that causes the leaves to roll across 
the path in a crackling barrage of noise. As I walk on the path, my footsteps crunch on 
the underlying dead leaves. There are a few lamp posts throughout the park but their 
sodium-vapor light only reaches a few feet off the path. Outside of the safety of the 
light, the trees create a wide array of shadows that sway to and fro with each gust of 
cool air.
I reach the middle of the park to where the path widened into a junction that forks 
into three separate directions. I walk to a stone bench reset into a hill off the path
a few feet. It is right in the light of one of the lamp posts, which yields enough light 
to allow me my favorite pastime, reading.
I take a seat on the cold bench, which doesn't bother me at all. I open my purse to pull
out my latest novel, Stephen King's 'It.' I get comfortable to read for an hour and then
continue my journey home before dawn.
As I page through my book to the part I had marked with a bookmark, I mumble to myself 
"Hmm, where was I now?  Oh yes, this is cool, the scary part is about to begin!"
I was reading for about fifteen minutes and had gotten to the part where 'Ben' is on 
the canal bridge and 'Pennywise' walked across the frozen canal water toward him, "We 
all float down here." The hairs are standing up on the back of my neck from the book 
when I heard a soft rustle among the trees and brush. I quickly look up nervously from 
the book. The noise had come from about thirty yards back on the path from which I had 
approached my current position. It is in the shadows. Or is it my imagination? 
Damn you Stephen King!  
The morbid book must be getting to me.
I return to reading, trying to get back in the mood. Then I hear it!  
I can faintly hear a tapping on the path out of my view. It is the sound of someone's 
shoes on the cobblestone path. It is accompanied by an eerie whistling tune, which I 
recognized as coming from the Roger Corman movie rendition of Poe's 'Premature Burial.'
How fascinating, I think. Some nitwit is strolling through the park trying to scare 
me. But still a sense of unease tenses my shoulders, drys my mouth. It takes a bit 
more effort than I would care to admit to concentrate on the story, to let my eyes 
rest on the pages, to avoid glancing up and about to see the source and stare at it.
The ominous sound nears, the footsteps grow louder. My mind attempts to conjure up 
an image of what the source must look like. Fancifully I picture a tall, dominant 
man dressed all in black, slithering as he walks, with narrow eyes and a hat. 
Yes, a hat and gloves, black leather. Wouldn't that just fit perfectly!
My trepidation is increasing a bit. After all, I am not a fool. Brave but not 
senseless. Could the stalker have announced his arrival to other woman this way as well? 
Was this perhaps his "calling card"?
Shifting my purse to my side, paying attention to the pattern of the strangers song,
seeing if the steps were increasing in pace or strength, I placed my hand into the 
black bag and found the mace with two fingers. All the way I tried to keep my expression 
blank and unfrightened. My eyes flickered from the book, to the empty wind and back 
to the book again.
Abruptly the sounds stopped, and I froze. The tension in my muscles was monumental. 
I wondered if perhaps I should rise and begin to leave. But would that make it easier 
for someone to come behind me when I was unaware?  
I knew this park well but surely he or she did also.
Sitting here like a frigid rabbit wasn't altogether appealing, and yet there seemed 
to be an irony about it if indeed the whistler was a madman. Coming upon me, expecting 
surprise and anxiety on my face. Thinking he had me, just sitting here reading a book, 
innocent and easy prey. So quick the kill, so joyous. He wouldn't have expected my act 
to be a pretense, that instead of being frightened I was actually -- and surprising 
myself to admit it -- itching to confront him with my brutal mace!
But now that the sounds have stopped, how can I know where this person is?
Perhaps he is no threat at all? 
Another homeless man who is feeling depressed enough to hum out a tone of death. 
Someone playing a prank. A teen with a horror movie fetish. Another Poe fan like myself?
Could he slip up behind me from the bushes? 
I would hear him surely, the bushes are not THAT close.
I waited for about twenty more minutes, my eyes on the book but watching with every 
pore of my being. Of course the story could be not be read after I heard that first 
whistling warning. I didn't need King to provide my fright for THIS evening. 
Satisfied the assailant was most likely not even an assailant at all, that it was 
just my overimaginative mind runnin away with me again, I stood and began walking 
home. It didn't take long to get there; my small apartment looked nourishing, safe. 
I longed to bathe in a nice hot bath, to slip into the cool sheets and close my 
eyes, to rest feet that waitresses abuse the most, and perhaps dream a small dream 
or so. Enough of the book, that was for damn sure!
I had of course thought of the stranger in the park non-stop; that chilling tune 
never had left me. Glancing over my shoulders the entire way home, tense and taunt 
from strain, I was now chidding myself for being so foolish. What if it indeed had 
been him?
What could have possibly proven? 
Just because my sister had been raped didn't mean I was the now the saver of all 
women. This didn't mean I could not exercise a little caution, a smudge of common 
sense, didn't it?
Opening the door and venturing in quietly, more tired than when I left the diner, 
I switched on the lights -- only to gasp as what lay before me.
On the floor in my living room was a dead body of a teenage girl. She was mangled 
beyond recognition, limbs ripped off and beside her, neck obviously broken. Even
more obscene was her eyes had been gorged out, nowhere to be found. She was drained
of her blood, as not one drop was anywhere to be seen. I kneel closer in disgust 
for several minutes before noting a crumbled piece of paper crammed in her mouth.  
I tentatively open her mouth to pull the bloody parchment out. The outside had my 
name written in the girl's blood. Now I am truly freaked out. I decide to play the 
killer's game. I open the note and begin reading:

    
     "My Dearest Megan,
     Hope you like my peace offering. This is a gift to you. I did this in your 
     name, for your honor. It's also restitution for your sister, Angelica. I 
     had no idea when I raped her. I didn't kill her because she was special and 
     I could smell it on her scent. Why didn't I convert her?  
     Because I knew that she had a sister even more special and to my liking. 
     That sister is you. I found your picture in Angelica's purse. It had your 
     previous address but not the forwarding address here. I had to travel across 
     five states to find you. Once here, why did I wait over a year to start this 
     killing spree, luring you into my arms?  
     I like all of the antics of reporters and spectators: humans are such fascinating 
     creatures, don't you agree, Megan?
     Well, now playtime is over. I left my fifth victim in your residence so you 
     will know that I found you and am here to claim you. Here's the deal now. I 
     can kill your sister at any time. She isn't the one I want but rest assured, 
     I won't hesitate to do it. As you can tell from my offering, I will make her
     agony excessive. I like causing pain. It's most exquisite. Tomorrow morning 
     after work, at exactly 3:15 AM, you will meet me in the park. When I approach 
     you won't have others with you, nor police. You will not scream. You will do 
     exactly as I command and I'll spare Angelica's measly life. I know you won't 
     disappoint.
     Forever yours with bloody kisses."


God!  
Why me???  
Why????  
How the hell did this lunatic find me and why'd he rape my sister?!  
That bastard!!  
I'll get revenge yet. For now I'll just hide the body. No cops. I'll get a trash 
bag and put all of the girl's body parts in it. The flesh is cold and clammy in 
my hands as I pick them up one by one. I then drag the bag into the walk-in closet 
and lock it. I spray some 'Lysol' to remove some of the stench of death from the 
air. It will never totally dissipate here, not to me at least. Now, I'm really beat. 
It's 6AM now, sunrise is at 6:32 AM. I quickly close the window shades so no one can
peer into my apartment. As much as I am upset about the girl and fear for my sister, 
I need sleep. Maybe in the evening, I will wake up from this nightmare and all will
be well. Walking into my bedroom, I take my clothes off and drop them at the foot 
of the bed. I take a quick shower for five minutes and then dry myself off. I walk 
naked to the bed and fall fast asleep beneath the sheets.
The alarm goes off at 5PM and I get dressed. I step out on to the balcony porch and 
look out across the park. Being autumn, it's dark outside, though not yet full twilight 
for a few hours. I like the dark. It embraces one like a black cloak. All is well in 
the world. It's 5:20 PM, my waitress shift starts in forty minutes. I went to the 
kitchen to get something to eat before work. I had a leftover rare piece of steak 
from a few days ago which Joe had made me at the diner. I gobbled it down fast and 
cleaned up quick. I got my jacket on, grabbed my purse, and walked to the door to leave. 
I looked down ad saw an envelope under the door. I bent down to pick it up, nervously,
and noticed it was covered with blood. I stifled a gasp as this morning's horrific 
events flooded back into my mind like a deluge. Carefully opening the bloody red
envelope and slowly unfold it, as if a monster might reach out of the paper and rip
me to shreds.  I unfold it flat it and read the seven words: "DON'T FORGET. QUARTER 
AFTER THE SOUL'S MIDNIGHT."
I fall against the hallway wall for support, as a wave of nausea hit me. I can't let 
the son of a bitch to get to me!
I swallow down my disgust and regained my composure. I'll deal with it later. I walk 
back to the kitchen and trash the note, then proceed out, locking the door behind me.
Once outside in the open air, I feel a little better. I gulp down big lung-fulls of 
cool air as I begin my walk down the steps that went down into the park. I keep up a 
fast pace through the park so as not to be late to work and raise suspicion. Nothing 
must ruin my plans, nothing!
The park isn't empty of people but they are definitely thinning out now that it's dark.  
I pass the bench where I sat and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.  
It sends shivers down my spine to think that the killer really was here this morning.  
He could've easily killed my while Stephen King sat on his ass collecting bucks for 
fiction that I read at the time. Oh well, I'll be prepared this time. I left my guard 
down too long. Never again. 
I reach the diner right at the strike of 6 PM. "Just on time again, Megan," laughs 
Joe, the diner owner. "Like clockwork," he added. "Yep, that's me.  Call me anything 
but don't call me late to the diner," I reply as I take jacket off and prepare for 
work. The night went pretty well. The tips were great, as most of my regulars are in 
on Tuesdays. I joke around with all of my buds. My fears were all but forgotten. 3 AM 
is fast approaching as I contemplate what will happen soon. I look up at the clock. 
Damn, five minutes till 3 AM already. Time to test fate. I put my jacket on and grab 
my purse as I chitchat with Joe. "Now be careful, Megan. You're like the sister I never 
had and I don't want to lose you to some weirdo in the park. If you ever need me to 
walk you home, I am forever at your service. Sure you don't want me to now?"
"No, Joe, I'll be fine," I admonished him with a warm smile. "I lived through last nights 
walk home and tonight isn't any different."
"You're one tough cookie, Megan. If I didn't think of you as my sister, well, who knows,"
Joe heartily laughs. "See you tomorrow babe. Same bat diner, same bat time." 
"Oh okay. Night Batman," I joke back at him.
The door closes behind me as Joe watches me safely off into the park. But tonight I 
knew in my gut the park would not remain safe. Walking quickly through the trail, the 
trees doing their little dance under the moonlight, I know without even having to look 
down at my watch it is now that time. The hour the killer was waiting for, when he 
anticipated my fear would be at its highest. But fear was deadly, and I had no intention 
to give into the sadistic bastard. Slipping my hand into my purse and clutching the cold 
steel of the small derringer I had slipped into my pocketbook earlier, my shoulders 
straightened slightly and I kept my head straight forward. I must have looked like a 
determined being walking through the park that night. I don't really know, as my mind was
in a way someplace else, and yet in a way everywhere all at once. Through the eyes of the
squirrels I saw all movements; in the darkest corners of the shadows light shone onto every
speck of dirt; every chirp of a bird, the rubbing of a cricket, did not drown out any sounds. 
All was available to me as I walked that night. Nothing was hidden, all exposed, and this
was the perfect chance to show the bastard what I was made of. 
He began approaching right on cue. I heard him several feet behind me, and kept hearing 
him keep his distance. Oh, he WAS a quiet one all right. The little devil. But not quiet 
enough, never that. Gripping the butt of the gun tighter, slowing down a little when my feet
felt more like picking up speed, I prepared to be grabbed from behind and go down for the 
fight of my life. I could actually SMELL the bastard now. But despite my previous cool 
demeanor, my resolution to stay calm and composed, my palms became stained with the touch 
of sweat, and my heartbeat began a rhythm all its own that rivaled any creepy footsteps. 
Everything had gone silent, and although I could no longer hear the man, that awful smell 
hovered in the air. I could feel my skin itch, almost as if it was thinking of crawling 
off me. The craziest thought went through my head that this wasn't any normal man. Not 
like the men I had killed before. Something about "this one" was quite different. I 
stood my ground and prepared for his approach. But I cannot see anyone anywhere. Where 
did the freak go?  
He couldn't just evaporate into thin air. I quickly spin in a circle looking for the 
assailant, my gun still concealed. A thick fog filled the air all around me. What the 
hell?  
This park never has fog.
WHAM!  
Someone or something just hit me in the back with an unnatural force and knocks me 
to the ground. I sit up and try to regain my bearings. No one to be seen and the fog 
has thickened so much so that visibility is only one foot in front of my face. Slowly 
I stand up, holding my purse tightly, my gun inside. As soon as I stand up, again, a 
force hits me in the back and knocks me down again. I felt a wind fly past me that 
time, I was sure of it. It did fly past. I feel a cold wetness on my back. I reach 
behind me and to my horror, my hand returns bloody before my eyes. The fuck has claws!  
What is he?  
Is he even human?
I back up until my back rests against the clammy tree trunk. He can't sneak up behind
me this time!  
I yell out into the air, not sure what response, if any, I will receive, "All right, 
you bastard, show yourself. No more games, do you hear me?!??"  
I listen intently for a few moments. I decide he won't respond. Just then I hear a
loud maniacal laughter from above the fog. In a Transylvanian accent, not too unlike 
that of Bela Lagosi, I hear the bastard, "Oh so exquisite!  
I do so enjoy a feisty woman who wants to be in control; as if they believe they 
actually had any control to begin with. But, alas, the more willpower they have to 
break through, the sweeter the reward when they finally see no alternative but to 
submit to my will. Muhaha!"
"I've known enough filthy men like you. You all think you can control all women.  
Maybe you can do that to them but YOU WON'T SUBJUGATE ME. NEVER!!
Now let's settle this. FUCKIN SHOW YOUR FACE!!"
"I'll play your game for now, Megan. I haven't had this much fun in a long time."
I see a body fly down through the fog, which part like the waters for Moses.  
Within moments he...it...is a few feet in front of me. I jump up to my feet 
to meet my adversary face-to-face. I look up and I can finally make him out.  
He is handsome in a morbid way. He stands about six-foot-one, coal black hair 
and eyes. Dressed in a black suit and cape, he is the spitting image of Dracula.
He reaches out and takes my hand and kisses it, as it we were casually meeting 
for the first time at a friendly dinner party. I try to pull away but his 
eyes...oh, the look in his eyes!  
I feel compelled to relax and allow him total control. I snap out of it and I
can see a flinch of disbelief in his face, eyes, and grasp of his cold, clammy 
hand. I feel disgusted and pull away from him with force and stare him down.
"Ah, you are a cute little thing, aren't you Megan. You're very much unlike 
your sister, for she broke immediately. She was great but offered none of your 
resistance or fervor."
"You fucking scum!" 
I scream at him. Almost involuntarily, my left hand reaches up with lightning 
quick speed and slaps him in the face with a preternatural force that twists his
face to the right. As an extra effect, my fingernails had slashed the flesh of 
his face, a jagged row of four deep gashes now adorns his otherwise flawless face.
He looks at me for a second then with a speed and dexterity, matching my own, 
he runs and me and grabs my neck. I'm pinned against the tree. He lifts me off 
the ground and holds me there. "NO ONE DOES THAT TO ME!!
NO ONE!!  
You'll pay for this bitch!"
Knowing he might kill me at any moment and that I might not have another chance, 
I grasp the gun in my purse hard and pull it out of my purse. He sees the flash 
of chrome but it's too late. In rapid succession, I release a full clip of 38 
slugs, from my Walther P-38, into his chest. He's thrown back into the fog, 
screaming in pain. Then total silence. Yes!  
The bastard's dead.
I continue grasping the gun in my right hand, enjoying the power it yields. 
I reload the clip, just in case. I still have my purse over my shoulder as I 
walk forward into the fog to examine the creep's dead body. I see his body 
about twenty feet into the fog, across the patch into the grass on the other 
side. Approaching it with hesitation, I slowly walk toward him. I reach his 
body and kick him lightly in the side. No response. I go to his side and reach 
down to feel his pulse on his carotid artery. God, his flesh is cold. It's too
cold. But no pulse. He's dead.  
I start to walk away toward my apartment. I get about a block away and an arm 
reaches around my throat in a half Nelson hold. His breath is just as cold as
his skin. His other hand reaches into my top and grasps my breast roughly. 
Then it reaches under my skirt and starts fingering my sex. God, it feels good!  
But I can't. Not this guy...this this thing!  
I let him believe he has me where he wants me until the moment is right to 
retaliate. Still touching me all over, he laughs his hideous laugh again. "You 
didn't think that puny mortal weapon would kill me, did you, Megan??  
Don't you know who I am yet, my dear?  
I am your master!"
"I don't care who the Hell you think you are. I'll kill you!"
"Is that so?  
No, I'm going to take you like your succulent sister!"
At the mention of my sister, I go into a wild frenzy. Dropping the gun and 
my purse I prepare for a fight. I grab his arm, which is around my neck 
and bend forward. I pull him, with his own momentum, over my shoulder and 
slam him to the ground with an audible thud on the black top. Pouncing on 
him like a cat, I start in on him with a flurry of slashes with my nails. 
I cut his clothes and skin open in hundreds of places. There's blood everywhere.  
He's still alive. I wanted him alive for what I still had in store for him. 
He meekly looks up at me and asks, in a whisper, "Who are you??"
I allow a wicked smirk to play over my face and reply, "Why I'm Annabelle Lethal, 
of course, silly boy."
I grab his head in my hands and get ready for the final twist of fate--to break 
his neck. "This won't hurt a bit. Well, okay it will," I laugh down at him.
Just as I go to twist his neck, his hands reach up and pull me to him. Still 
holding me, he stands up and lifts me off the ground facing him. His arm extends 
straight out, holding me in his steal grip. "You never asked my name, Megan."
I whimper at him through clenched teeth, "Who...who... are you, you f.. fuck?"
"My my, even after you lose, you're still cocky. As for who I am, why I'm Dracula, 
silly girl," he said mockingly. "I eat fellow vampires for snacks. I had my 
suspicions about you but had to know for sure. Now that I know, I can't leave 
you alive. It's survival of the fittest, my dear. Now to dispose of you forever!"
Just then I see another body flash behind Dracula. Then I feel two arms reach 
around him and grasp his wrists. The guy must be at least six-foot-five, a bit 
taller than Dracula, his shadow falling over us both. 
"What...what's this??" Dracula gasps.
Dracula tries to maintain his grip but to no avail. His hold starts to loosen. 
But then his arms start to shake as he pulls back slowly around me. The new 
player's strength waned. "Haha!  No one, no vampire, can match my strength!"
"Oh, do you really think so, ole buddy?" the new man's voice replies. Then 
Dracula's arms are pulled apart so fast that I actually hear one of his arms 
break at the elbow. Dracula cries out in pain as I fall out of his grasp and 
to the ground. He's then turned around and picked by his neck, as he had me. 
I finally clearly see the face of...of...I can't believe it....IT'S JOE, the
diner owner!! 
But he's dressed in a dark gray jacket and a top hat. In all the turmoil, he 
didn't drop his hat. He didn't even break a sweat!
"Oh my God, Joe??  
What is this about?"
"Just looking out for you Megan, or should I say Annabelle Lethal?" he smirks.  
Still holding Dracula by the neck, Joe begins shaking him around like a rag doll.  
"So what do I do about you, scumbag? 
Megan?  
Shall I kill him now?"
"Yea, oh yea.  Kill him!"
"Wait, wait, who are you?" Dracula whimpers.
"I am known as Necropolis...Necropolis Nick." Still holding Dracula in his hand, 
he bows slightly.
"Not a vampire?"
"Hell no.  Why do you think I overpowered you?  
I'm a Soul Taker. Okay, well enough chit chat, you weak, sorry excuse for a 
creature of the night."
I look on in awe at Joe, I mean Necropolis Nick. I can hear Dracula's neck 
start to crack in Nick's rippling hands. But, before he can fully break his 
neck, Dracula transforms into a cloud of mist and quickly flies away. Nick 
just smiles and says to me, "He'll be back one day but no time soon."
"I've known you all this time and never suspected what you are."
"Well, after over two millennia, one tends to find ways to mask their identity 
from everyone. To be exact, I was born in 753 BC. I was once known as Remus, 
one of the founders of the Roman Empire. I'll explain more back at the diner."
Nick walks toward me and picks me up in his arms and carries me back to the diner.

By Wolf By Night and Erin.

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