Reddit Collection (Fresh-Short #9) - DeYtH Banger (best smutty novels .txt) 📗

Stephanie

 by moirakathryn

 

 

Stephanie never liked the third grade. She carefully did all her work, aced every test, and received glowing reports from her teacher. But she never smiled. Her parents - despite Stephanie's hard work - never cared much about what their daughter did. Instead, they were enamored with the little girl across the street. Although the little girl was barely scraping through 3rd grade by the skin of her polished teeth, the poise and beauty she walked with attracted the love and attention of Stephanie's parents.

On the first afternoon of the summer, the little girl across the street called over to Stephanie, asking her to come play. Stephanie shuffled over to the girl's back yard and saw oddly shaped bubbles being blown and floating far away. Stephanie inquired, and the little girl told her that these bubbles were special. "They come out in the shape of whatever you wish for, and if it pops before floating away, your wish will come true."

Stephanie was skeptical, but took the bottle of "special" bubbles from the girl. She thought hard for a moment, then blew the best bubble she could. The bubble took the exact shape of the little girl across the street, who smiled in great delight at the thought that her neighbor's greatest wish was her. The bubble began to float away, but Stephanie took a step forward and poked it with the wand. It popped. Stephanie looked over at the little girl across the street, who had collapsed on the grass, not breathing. Stephanie smiled for the first time that year.

It hurts a bit...

 by  Conbz

 

 

I don’t really remember what happened before it all went dark. I think I was in the car? All I can remember was the loud noise, some screech of metal on metal and then nothing. I woke up in this beeping place. I’m not sure where I am because I can’t seem to open my eyes. Silly, isn’t it? I can definitely feel the blanket on top of me and the beep-beep-beep beside me but I can’t open my eyes or talk or move.

 

People come to poke at me every now and then and I always try to talk to them.

 

“Can someone tell me what’s happened to my eyes? I can’t open them.” I try to say but my vocal cords don’t seem to want to cooperate so I guess I’ll just wait. These people seem to know what they’re doing, they poke in the same places every time, sometimes with their fingers, sometimes with a sharp-thing-with-no-name. They don’t say much, these people. Just come, poke, sigh and go.

 

Someone opened my eye today and held a flashlight over it. It hurt and I couldn’t tell them to stop but just the movement of my eye felt amazing. Did you know that if you don’t open your eyes for a long time they can stick to your eyelids? I didn’t. Do now. It didn’t hurt though, it just felt good when it unstuck.

 

Someone’s been holding my hand and reading me stories. They’re seven chapters into Harry Potter and The Chamber Of Secrets now. I’d tell them that I’ve already read them but I can’t. They hold my hand sometimes and just sit with me so it’s just me, them and the beep-beep-beep. I think it’s my mum.

 

She was crying today. I wanted to make her happy and not sad but something’s definitely wrong with my arms because I couldn’t hug her better. I’ll have to tell her when I can that I wanted to help.

 

 

Some people came into the room while mom was crying, said that “she should leave”, that “she shouldn’t be here for this” but I didn’t recognise the voice and I didn’t want mom to go. I was scared. She cried louder, said “No, he’s still there.” And I wanted to shout “Of course I am, where would I have gone?” and everyone left.

Mom came back a bit later, sniffing. She sat down and started crying a bit louder, and louder, until she was almost screaming. And then she hit me, right in the face. I couldn’t tell what I’d done wrong but she hit me again and again and again and I couldn’t say sorry or cry or stop her, only sit there until the men came and took her away. Two of the men stayed though and they were mumbling and I couldn’t make out what they were saying until I caught the word “coma.”

 

 

I wanted to scream, shake, jump up and slap him in the mouth.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say “stop.” Couldn’t say “please, I’m here, I can hear you please don’t do this.” Nothing. I could only sit there while they poked me with a sharp-thing-with-no-name that must be a needle. The beep-beep-beep turned into a beep-beep and I felt myself get tired. I wanted to ask what they were doing. What they thought it would help to slow the beeping down but I couldn’t.

I was screaming at the top of my lungs but I wasn’t moving. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to fade away, I need to hug mom, tell her everything’s okay, tell her I’m here and I’m fine. But I don’t think I’ll get the chance now.

Beep.

Beep.

.

No Wolves in the Stillwood

 

The gray wolves of Virginia were made extinct over a hundred years ago. According to the regular surveys by the National Forestry service, no sign of any such animal has been found since 1900. The occasional reports of large predators, just after dusk or late at night, usually by the occasional hiker or party of campers in the Stillwood (residents of Lower Alethia, nearest the woods like myself, know better than to try), receive the same tired reply from Animal Control.

"There are no wolves in the Stillwood.”

When a pet gets lost in the dark of the Stillwood and never returns… or worse is found, mauled, the blame falls on the usual suspects: foxes, wild dogs or teenagers with too much time and too little compassion. A few years back, when the Bradleys, a little family brand new to the Falls, had their boy David go missing from their own backyard, never finding more than scraps of his jacket and a little blood at the edge of the forest, the official response was adamant: this was a kidnapping, not an animal attack. Old-timers like me just shook our heads and muttered to ourselves:

“There are no wolves in the Stillwood.”

So, if you want to sleep at night this close to the forest, keep your doors locked tight and your shutters closed fast, if just to buy some peace of mind, to stop you from catching a glimpse of the Stillwood late at night. And should you somehow find yourself walking near, or God forbid through, the woods some evening, head home as quick as you can. Try to ignore the sounds of the night wind, howling as it does… it will only make your imagination run wild, after all. And should you see what cannot be polychrome eyes, shining through the mists from the underbrush or somehow in the branches above, should you be blessed enough to make it safely home, take what comfort you can in this thought.

There are no wolves in the Stillwood.

What If?

 

We all remember monsters. We remember the beast that lurked under our bed, the one that resided in our closet, the one that leered at us from the dark shadows in our room. Everyone has had their own personal monster that always kept them on edge.

Mommy or Daddy would always turn on the light and prove that no such monster was there. The nightlight that was plugged in kept all the shadows and scary things away. The lullaby would send the monster away, writhing in agony from such sweet, loving words.

But now that we’re older, we’ve forgotten our monsters. The shadows of the night, the closet and the space beneath the bed are things we’ve grown out of fearing, something we care very little about and even consider mundane. The most frightening thing about all of the listed places is knowing that you’ll have to clean up whatever mess is there. But did you ever think that maybe that monster is still there?

Just because you don’t see or don’t believe in something doesn’t make it any less real.

We’re all convinced that the monsters only existed within our own minds, but did you ever think that may be untrue? What if we ARE the monsters? What if those lurking shadows and glowing eyes we swear to see are what we become in the afterlife?

Maybe Heaven isn’t real. Maybe we aren’t reincarnated. Maybe we don’t just end up being food for the parasites that live underground.

What if we become the monsters of our childhood and strike fear into the hearts of those we watch over?