L'il Cup of Nightmare Fuel · 7:01am Jul 27th, 2016
It's time for my (ostensibly) Weekly Wednesday Blogpost again. I swear the week goes too fast.
Hey so I decided I could write a little book of short conceptual horror. Atmospheric horror? Something.
I thought that might be a neat thing to do, and I'm chugging happily through it. Got the title picked out nice and neat as you can see.
The idea will be one A4 page per phobia concept, and between 12 and 30 pieces will be covered. I'm getting about three of these done a day at the moment, so I thought as a sample and as gratitude for all you folks at home who actually read my comedies and romances and science fiction, you might want a little something spicier to the palette.
Arachnaphobia after the break.
Dust hangs in the air of the study, thick and heavy and catching in what light enters through the old yellowed window.
You find the book you’ve been looking for, still on its podium after all these years. Thick dust has piled up a thumb’s width over its cover.
You shake it off a little and inhale deep, so as to blow it off, but the dust is far lighter than you expected it to be. It disappears in a rush down your throat, into your lungs, and you choke and gasp.
The dust on the page shivers once, twice. Your drop the book in shock, still hacking and spluttering, as it erupts into thousands, millions, of tiny baby spiders, each smaller than a pin’s head, spilling like ink out and away across the floor.
Realization sets in. Your chest hurts, and explodes in agony, and a ticklish mass forces itself upwards.
They crawl endlessly out your open mouth, clogging your throat so as you choke, you cannot scream.
Your throat reflexively tightens on them but the sheer mass of them pushes back, fuzzy waves writhing in golfball shapes. You can't breathe out, they push back against your chest muscles and force your ribs outward.
You can’t breathe. You fall to your knees, to your side, tears streaming down your face as your lungs compress against the fuzzy mass, so desperate to force room for precious air. But you can’t even close your mouth against the bristling numbers still now climbing its way out of you.
Your vision turns black and you don’t know whether it’s because you still cannot breathe, or simply that they’ve covered your eyelids completely, as you can no longer feel your own face.
"climbing its way"
"their"?
You know how people will shout at the screen during horror movies? I had a moment like that during this, but it was a bit different. Specifically: "Chew! Chew!"
In any case, very nice piece.
And now, my thought processes.
Don't mention it. It doesn't matter, he'll notice anyway and he probably has already noticed it.
*You
DAMMIT DARK!
In seriousness though, this was wonderfully, disturbingly gross. Well done. Can't wait for the rest!
Also relevant: Amathophobia — fear of dust.
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