Fachsprachenzentrum BLOG

Happy Halloween! In our FSZ English Creative Writing courses this week we experimented with the “Flash Fiction” form, which involves telling a story is less than 500 words. To be festive, our theme was “Halloween stories”. Our very creative students turned out some very creepy stories! Here is one from Kay Dockhorn and Dafni Tzouna. Even more impressive? They wrote this in an hour!

From beneath a rumpled bed a ghostly hand emerged and slapped an alarm onto the floor, replacing its incessant buzzing with a satisfying crack followed by blissful silence. I could only enjoy the blissful silence for a very short moment though. My thoughts become louder and louder. But I can’t actually hear anything. I don’t know what is heavier right know, the frizz of my hair or my confusion.

As I am running through my hair suddenly there is something. I see something. It is me. Or is it someone else? I don’t know, everything is blurry, dark, breaking off and confusing.
I see it again. Something. Someone. Somewhere.

I see myself walking around the hallway and then suddenly a hand is running through my hair. It is so sticky, and I can smell that this hand is full of beer.

Beer. Wait. As I think of it there is something rushing to my mind. I went to the supermarket to buy a couple of six-packs a few days. But for what?

Silence again.

Rolling my neck with an exhausted sigh, I give myself a little shake and move to my bedroom door, pulling on a baggy, oversized shirt as I go. Something twinges in my shoulder, but I pay it no mind. Swinging the door open on oiled hinges, I start at the deep grooves that have been scratched onto the lower half of the formerly smooth surface. A hand, MY hand, presses to my temple as a painful thudding drags my consciousness to another time. I’m smaller, perhaps younger, what does it matter? The claws that gauge the wood from my door belong to a pack of young werewolves. I hiss, drawing their attention, as well as their ire. They’re young though. Untrained. Unthreatening. Dodging their poor attacks, I give them a few nicks and a couple of headbutts until they retreat down the hall and out the door. The hall. I gasp. I’m back. Leaning against the doorway with both hands holding my head. I bite back an annoyed yowl. Another episode. Clenching my teeth, I march down the hall with only one destination in mind. The bathroom. The only place in my house with a mirror. To get there I have to navigate a minefield of broken bottles, crumpled cans, and chip crumbs. My shoulder glances the door frame leading to the guest room. A surprised yelp escapes me at the PAIN such a simple collision causes. Reaching a hand behind me, I hiss when my probing fingers meet mottled flesh and open wounds. Pressing my hand to the injury I’ve now become painfully aware of; I sprint the last few meters to the bathroom. My other hand, currently unoccupied, flips the light switch and my expression turns grim in the face of my reflection. Hair like a dirty orange peel is slowly losing its ginger stripes, returning to its usual frizzy brown. Eyes of poisonous green glare at me, even as the edges become tainted brown. Whiskers fall where freckles lay, and I sigh at another night survived. Gingerly I disrobe, hissing again when I see the bite on my shoulder, blood and fur mixing on my tiles. Already, the wound is starting to close, the process of healing no less painful in its expedited state.
Once the wound is completely closed and my fair skin devoid of all fur, I make my way to the kitchen for a MUCH needed coffee… preferably with a couple of shots. With a groan I wait for the coffee maker to grind her magic. This curse was starting to get out of hand.

END