The Definitive Way to Read the Classics

Classic Horror - Preserved and Modernised

I'm giving away copies of a new series dedicated to preserving, while modernising, classic gothic texts for new readers.

• The Turn of the Screw
• The Yellow Wallpaper
• The Horla

The Modern Editions collection offers a modern, accessible reading alongside the complete original text, giving readers both clarity and authenticity in one volume.

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• Three complete editions in one book (original, modern and a retelling)
• Ideal for new and returning readers
• Faithfully preserved
• Annotations and Insights

See the Difference

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Original Editions
The original text, preserved exactly as it first appeared. No edits, no corrections, no silent modernisation.

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Modern Editions
A careful restoration. Archaic vocabulary is updated where meaning has drifted, translation artefacts are smoothed, and punctuation is refined only when it serves clarity and flow—while remaining fiercely faithful to the original text.

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Retelling Editions
A structural reimagining built for the modern reader. Rebuilt with contemporary storytelling techniques yet preserving the narrator's voice, intellect, and underlying architecture, it delivers the story with the visceral immediacy the author intended.

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If you would be interested reading any of these, reply here or send me a message and I will get a copy over to you. If you enjoy it, I only hope you will leave an honest review on Amazon.

I work as a night shift nurse in a remote hospital. Something is wrong with some of my patients.

This is hard to explain. I will be frank and say that I am not of the soundest mind myself, as constant night shifts have taken a harsh toll on my mental health. Still, I know that what I am seeing is real and not a fabrication of my mind.

A year before working here, I was employed at a private hospital in a large city. Some bad things happened to me, and I decided to leave my old life behind.

This place needed a permanent night shift nurse. Since I get almost no sleep anyway, it became the perfect job for me. The money is good, but I really do not care about finances anymore.

This hospital is the polar opposite of the tightly run and lavish one I used to work at. It is run down and looks half abandoned. It does not help that it is located in a densely wooded area with almost nonexistent lighting.

My mind is racing as I type this, and I am already on my third pack of cigarettes.

I do not even know where to begin. I would love to share this with someone in person, but even if I had someone, they would think I was insane.

The first day I arrived here, I was taken aback by the eerie brown and dark green interior design. The place looks like something out of World War I.

The air smelled like phenol, alcohol, and staleness, which was very off-putting, but I got used to that part at least.

The entire place was filled with narrow corridors that had poor lighting. If there were ten bulbs on the ceiling, one was functional, while the rest were either burned out or flickered at best.

I went into the doctor’s office. He was an old, short man, probably in his late eighties. I was caught off guard that someone his age was still working, but he was. I always considered it impolite to ask why.

He did not give me the usual interview or onboarding pep talk we are all used to. No, this felt sincere.

He raised his head and looked at me for a moment. “You smoke?” His voice was deep and soft.

I did not expect the question and simply nodded. He opened the window in his office and offered me a cigarette.

I hesitated, thinking it was some kind of test. He noticed and lit one for himself first, trying his best to blow the smoke outside.

I relaxed and joined him.

“We old ones do things a bit differently,” he said.

I immediately knew things here were more relaxed and far less up to code.

Moaning and frightened gasps from patients could be faintly heard in the office, which made me uneasy.

We talked about life and general topics for the most part, which honestly is not very interesting.

The eeriest thing happened at the very end of our conversation. He took my hand and gazed into my eyes. Most would consider this inappropriate and creepy, but it felt like a fatherly warning.

His voice sounded frightened. “Have you seen a patient die before?” he asked.

“A few, yes,” I responded.

“This place has many unfortunate memories. For over a century, it has been a place of great suffering. Things here are not quite what you might expect at times.” He paused, watching to see if I understood. “When patients enter the final hours of their lives, try to give them their peace.” He let go of my hand.

I was puzzled, to say the least.

My first few nights were normal. It was just me and two other nurses, and often only one doctor on the night shift. The hospital was huge, but because of its remoteness, it had very few patients.

Then, on my seventh shift, things became strange.

I was alone on the floor with four patients. One of them, an elderly man with a severe aneurysm, did not have much time left. He was barely responsive. That night, he looked me in the eyes and whimpered a repetitive “no, no, no.” I tried to comfort him when I noticed he was not looking at me. He was staring into the upper corner of the room.

I turned around, but there was nothing there.

The fear in his eyes was immense. I knew he was gazing at something only he could see.

He spent the next three days staring fearfully into that corner, with occasional pleas for mercy and redemption.

On his final night, he started shaking and clenching his teeth, completely unresponsive to my attempts to reach him. The room felt odd, and he was the only patient there at the time.

I cannot explain it, but it felt as if the room was darker than it should have been, especially around that corner.

The old doctor came in, took one look at the man, and nodded, gesturing for us to leave.

“He is going to…” I began, but he interrupted me. “His time has passed. You know we cannot do much.”

I knew he was right, but I have always been an advocate for trying everything. Reluctantly, I walked outside. I swear that the moment we closed the door, he started gurgling and writhing in pain. After a few seconds, he went quiet.

“Take a walk,” the doctor said, tapping me on the shoulder.

I went to the window and lit a cigarette, trying to make sense of what had just happened. This was not standard protocol by any measure. This cursed place makes me feel as if I am constantly being watched. The other staff seem to feel the same way, but everyone is reluctant to talk about it.

That night, I was scared out of my mind.

I looked out the window into the forest. Keep in mind, this is a remote place with very little light. I could swear I saw a man standing there, looking at me.

I tried to ignore him, but I could not stop staring. It was so dark I could barely make him out. I do not know if my mind filled in the blanks or if I imagined what I saw.

The man looked as though he was completely bandaged, yet the bandages were old and yellowed, as if they had been there for years.

I wanted to scream and slam the window shut before collapsing beneath it.

Weeks passed, and I grew more anxious with each day. I lost a noticeable amount of weight due to the stress and was barely recognizable to myself.

Things were normal until another patient who was clearly dying began staring into the same corner, either muttering nonsense or trembling with a level of fear I have never seen before. Every single one of them did it.

One day, I found the old doctor dead in his office.

He was the only one who died with a smile on his face. His chair was turned toward a corner of the room. There was a piece of paper on his desk addressed to me.

It was obvious that it was written with unsteady hands, probably just before he died. “One shall gaze into the finality of this life as if greeting an old friend. Their virtuous deeds will carry them as if they are but a feather. The other will bear torment in their final moments, crushed by the burning weight of their wrongdoings.”

Last night’s shift is something I will never forget.

The hospital has a basement that has not been used in God knows how long. I rummaged through the office and found a key to the padlock.

Being foolish, I took it and went down into the basement. I barely managed to open the lock, as it was so rusted that the key would hardly turn.

Eventually, it did.

The air smelled like death, and the halls were filled with old medical equipment and mattresses caked in dried blood.

The lights did not work, but I brought a flashlight.

My hands started to shake from the sheer fear of being down there. My gut told me to turn around and never come back. But human nature urged me to explore at least a little.

Against my better judgment, I opened a nearby door. It was a padded psychiatric room.

The entire room was covered in the words “Forgive me,” along with various religious symbols, except for one corner, which held a drawing of something I cannot even describe.

The scribbling looked as though it was moving, as if it were somehow alive. The etched and drawn shape in the corner looked as though it was shifting, as if something endless existed behind that small corner of the room. It resembled a dark mass of eyes that would close but never open again.

The moment I saw that drawing, I stopped feeling alone.

It is as if something is always breathing down my neck. I cannot shower without thinking something is right in front of my face when I close my eyes.

I swear I see things in the corner of my vision.

Small items have started to disappear.

Every time I ask my colleagues about the patients and the corner, they change the subject, no matter how much I press.

I feel drawn to something. I am still losing weight.

I grow sicker with each passing day.

Anonymous confession:

I stole antipsychotics from the office.

I have been taking them for three days.

They do not help.

The patients still stare.

Last night, one of them grabbed my wrist before he passed.

He did not look at me.

He looked past me.

Into the corner of the room.

And he smiled.

I told myself it meant nothing.

I told myself it was muscle memory. Nerve death. A reflex.

But tonight, as I sit here typing this, I have realized something I cannot explain.

I moved my desk earlier.

I do not remember doing it.

But it is no longer facing the door.

It is facing the corner.

I keep catching myself looking up.

Just for a second at a time.

I think…

No.

I know…

Something is standing there now.

And it is waiting for me to stop blinking.

 

Vintage three-bedroom apartment in the downtown area. Single tenants only.

That was the short newspaper advert that got me to this place. I graduated and needed a place to stay after leaving my college dorm.

There weren’t many places to choose from, and those that were available were far beyond my budget. The landlord greeted me and gave me the keys on the spot.  

I should have run then and there.

The apartment isn’t that bad all in all, it’s just old, although there is plenty of space considering I have two spare bedrooms I hardly use.

The building is old, probably built in the 1950s, considering the hallway is made from those old red bricks. Most of the tenants are people well into their seventies or eighties who barely leave their apartments.

My first few weeks in this place were uneventful. The place has an uncomfortable silence to it, the only thing I ever hear is the faint noise of my old neighbor’s TV late at night.

All was tolerable until recently.

I work from home, so there is little reason for me to go anywhere.

I was working the night shift when I heard a phone ring. After a couple of rings, it stopped.

The same thing happened through the night, the phone would ring two to three times and stop.

This was an old landline phone I had on the wall. I wanted to remove it, but I couldn’t figure out how to disconnect it. I’m surprised it still works.

I finished work and shut down my laptop.

I opened the window to get some fresh air, gazing into the empty street from the third floor, when suddenly someone rang my doorbell in the middle of the night.

“Who could that be?” I wondered, expecting one of the neighbors, or maybe someone had an emergency.

I opened the door and saw a tall man in a well-made but vintage-looking suit. He looked charming but had a noticeable smell of alcohol on him.

“Oh, excuse me madam. I must have missed the floor.” His voice was polite, but he stuttered.

“Oh, no worries.” I smiled and closed the door.

Deciding it was foolish to open the door to a random stranger like that, I put the chain on the door.

I walked into the bathroom and started getting ready for bed.

As I was getting ready to shower, I could hear loud thumping noises, as if someone was breaking things.

I didn’t think much of it and went to sleep.

The next night the phone rang again, but this time I managed to pick it up.

First it was silence, and then a faint voice of a woman whispered, “Please help me, he’s going to kill me,” before hanging up.

“Hello?” I answered back, but the line fell silent.

I put the phone back when someone banged on my door.

I walked up and looked through the peephole. It was the same man as last night.

I slowly opened the door and immediately felt a more noticeable smell of alcohol.

“Is Victoria here?!” He sounded angry.

“Um…no, wrong floor.” I answered and slowly closed the door.

“Sorry!” he yelled back.

And again I could hear commotion in the bathroom, but it was more noticeable this time.

The next morning, I met the old lady who lives below me and asked her about the man and this Victoria. She said that no one by that name lives in the building, but she was a recent tenant.

And again that same night the phone rang, and I picked up.

The voice was sobbing and pleading, this time I heard the voice of a small girl crying too. “Please, he’s going to kill us, I know it, please, please!” She hung up again before I could speak.

At the same time, someone started violently smashing against my door.

“Victoria!” He was yelling maniacally. “You put me down! You are the worst! Open the door! I could have been everything if not for you two!”

Scared out of my mind, I called the police, who came within two minutes, but there was no one around.

Supposedly, none of my neighbors heard anything.

Things stopped for a few nights and everything was normal.

Until tonight.

The phone rang again, but this time it was persistent. I picked up angrily and shouted, “Hey, quit this!” as I tried to rip the phone out. I managed to rip the cord, but somehow I could still hear the woman on the other end. “Please, he’s going to kill me and Emily, I know it…NO David please!” She and the little girl started screaming and yelling before the line cut off.

This time there were two light knocks on the door. “I know you can hear me. Tonight they got what they deserved for doing this to me.” I opened the peephole only to see the man, now clearly a seasoned alcoholic, holding a bloody hammer in his hand struggling to stand upright and heavily intoxicated.

“Now that I’m free, maybe we can hang out, darling?” His voice was slurred and barely recognizable.

I screamed for what felt like hours but was probably minutes.

The old couple next door came to my door and I let them in.

Suzan made me a cup of tea while her husband Frank talked to calm me down.

When I told him what had happened, his expression turned pale.

“Victoria and David were our first neighbors. She was a housewife and he worked for a large finance company. He was fired from his job and started to drink. He got more and more violent each day for years. He blamed her and their daughter for losing his job.”

Frank paused.

“He killed them both before hanging himself.”

He pointed to the ceiling above the phone. “Right there on that hook.”

[Next Chapter]

Greywater, GA isn’t normal by any outsider’s standards. Thomas, my werewolf co-worker, would be a testament to that—he makes a habit of bringing fresh kill in for lunch. He used to bring live deer into the station, but after the break room incident three years ago, he’s been instructed to kill them outside first. In this quaint town of a thousand residents, the lines between supernatural and human barely exist: vampire kids play hide-and-seek with human kids under the streetlights, eldritch tentacle monsters run shops (though they prefer being called “Elders” to their faces), and as any officer worth my badge, I do my best to keep the peace. But even here, where everyone seems to get along, something always manages to slip through the cracks.

I was out on patrol with my partner, a witch from the 1800s named Geraldine. We had stopped at the general store run by an Elder named Rûngnoshqret, or “Rûng” to people who stopped by. I entered, passing a “Missing” poster for Daniel Mercer, the town archivist, who had been missing for over a year by that point. After buying coffee for myself and herbal tea for Geraldine, I thanked Rûng, but noticed something. On all four of his faces, their brows were furrowed in an expression of consternation.

“What’s up, Rûng?” I chimed.

The third face—which they used to convey fear or distress—fixed me with its singular red eye.

“Officer Anderson,” they croaked in the strange, otherworldly manner as all Elders do, “we have sensed something troubling.”

That caught my attention. Rûng was known in Greywater for being as calm as can be, arming themselves with reassuring words and kind smiles (well, what passed for smiles.) If something was bothering Rûng, then it was serious business.

“Something going down tonight?” I asked, being familiar with the Elders’ clairvoyance (or rather, the ability to glimpse millions of possible futures.)

“Many of our predictions show that you will encounter something odd, and yet human in nature. We advise caution, Officer, for we do not know who or what this thing is, and the details of tonight's events are shrouded. Should you be dispatched to Stoker Street tonight, be on high alert.”

This disturbed me, of course, but I did my best to appear sure of myself despite knowing Rûng knew I was putting up a front.

“Got it. I’ll make sure to be on my guard. Thanks for the heads-up.” I paid for the drinks, then headed out the door, waving at him as they waved a tentacle in kind.

Geraldine and I parked once patrol had ended, chatting about what had been going on in our respective lives.

“…I am telling you, that cat shall be the fourth death of me,” Geraldine sighed, taking a sip of her tea. “She keeps insisting that she is the avatar of Bastet and that guests to my home cannot enter until they have gotten on all fours and chanted, ‘Praise be to Bastet.’

“Isn’t that just how all cats are?”

“Yes, quite. But at least normal cats don’t speak English. It is maddening.”

“Why not just give her to a shelter?”

“What is a witch without a cat?”

I was about to speak again when I heard the cruiser’s radio go off.

“Dispatch, this is Greywater-2, over.”

Our dispatcher—a ghost named Lorenzo—told us about a disturbance on Stoker Street, a frequent hangout spot for local vampire teens, some of whom were a little rowdier than others.

Usually it was nothing serious.

Maybe vampire teens sneaking blood they shouldn’t have, maybe a fight, maybe a noise complaint.

Tonight, though, Lorenzo’s voice sounded wrong.

“Unit Greywater-2,” he said over the radio. “We’ve got multiple callers on Stoker Street.”

Then he paused.

“They’re saying someone has attacked the vampires.”

Geraldine and I looked at each other, shock plain on both of our faces.

“Does it appear to be a slayer?”

“Negative, Greywater-2. The attacker has not been reported to be carrying stakes or using fire. They— Stand by, Greywater-2. My God. We have confirmed fatalities. Dispatching paramedics.”

“Copy, Dispatch. En route to Stoker Street.”

The radio switched off and I looked to Geraldine, who nodded. We drove quickly to Stoker Street. When we arrived, Carmine’s Blood Bar—a quaint, sanctioned establishment supplied by willing donors and promising the varied tastes of all blood types—stood with the crimson light bathing the street in front of it like its primary libation. The paramedics were already there along with fellow officers, loading two body bags in as they treated the survivors. When briefed about the situation by our lieutenant, Sarah McCormick, she told us that one of the survivors was lucid enough to speak after the incident, and would require Geraldine’s particular skillset.

We nodded and made our way past the personnel, finding a 60-year-old teenage vampire who shivered despite his body’s natural cold, and with a sizable burn mark on the left side of his face. We knew him as Edmund Drake, a young vampire who occasionally got up to mischief, but never did any real harm. Geraldine gently asked if she could put her hand on his head for a moment. He hesitated, but he complied all the same. Geraldine placed a hand on his forehead, uttering an incantation. His red eyes went from panicked to glazed.

“What do you remember, Edmund?” I asked.

“I was with my friends,” he droned. “We were trying to get a quick sip. We didn’t—”

“It’s alright, son,” I assured him, not wanting him to think he’d witnessed several murders only to get thrown into jail. “Go on.”

“There were four of us, including me. Marco, Lila, and Kirk. We heard him before we saw them. He yelled, ‘Places, everyone.’ He had…” Edmund hesitated in the middle of his hypnosis, trying to find the right words. “It looked like some kind of metal hook, a stage hook, I guess. It must have been made from silver, because he slashed two others open and crushed their hearts. We were a bit out of it, and it took a moment to realize what was going on. He…he pulled out a big flashlight and shone it on the others. It was a kind of purple light. They burned. Oh God…a UV light. He was using that. They screamed. I was still sobering up. He cut them but didn’t kill them. He…he cut these crown symbols in their arms. Then he shone the light in my face and burned me too. He was right on top of me.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“He…he wore these dull yellow robes. Smelled like they’d been in an old theater for years. He had some white mask. It had a thin yellow crown painted on it and it was cracked a little. He looked down at me… My God… He talked so calmly. He told me to say… the—”He stopped, frowning. “I don’t… I don’t remember the word. Something about watching, or about a stage. I don’t know. I just remember his voice. Then he just walked away, like that.”

I was taking notes, then I nodded at Geraldine, who took her hand away. His expression returned to normal, though I knew Geraldine and I both wished the poor kid could stay under the hypnosis. We let a paramedic take him, and made our way back to the squad car. As we did, though, I noticed something. In all my years in Greywater, I had only seen one color from Carmine’s: its namesake red. Yet from a second-story window, I saw an odd yellow light shining. The room inside looked to be some kind of dressing room from what little I could see. It was empty, yet I felt like someone or something was looking at me from inside. I then looked into the alley beside it and my heart leapt into my throat.

Half-illuminated by this light was the assailant, just as Edmund described: faded yellow robes and a white mask. I was frozen in shock, and he took the time to do the most odd thing: he bowed, as if this night of bloodshed and terror was a spectacular performance and the wail of sirens and screams of pain were his standing ovation. I drew my pistol and aimed, yelling to freeze, which startled Geraldine. I turned to her for a moment and told her to draw her gun, but before I could finish the sentence, I looked back.

He was gone, and with him, the yellow light from the window. It was red, as it had always been.

She gave me an unsettled expression. “You think it was—”

“Matched Edmund’s description.”

She looked skeptical, but she didn't dismiss my concerns.

“We’ll make a note of it, but we need more.”

I nodded, holstering my sidearm and quietly berating myself for being so trigger-itchy.

I know what I saw, though. And I knew that whatever happened tonight wasn’t the end. As we were entering the squad car, though, something else caught my attention. A scrap of dull, yellowed paper had been slid into the crack of my door. In messy handwriting were the words, The first act begins.

The ink was still fresh.

I have an idea for a horror book and about 2000 words, but I feel like I am writing so much but it is taking up so little pages.

I hate bugs.  I hate all kinds of insects, such as flies, bees, even mosquitoes; but the one insect that I hate most of all is the common cockroach.

To me, a cockroach is the scariest and most disgusting insect of them all.  Ever since I was a kid, and I saw a cockroach crawl on my food, I’ve always hated those kinds of bugs.  The thought of something like that crawling on my body just gives me the creeps.

I didn’t know it when I was little, but one day, my worst nightmare would come true, in the most horrifying way that I could’ve ever imagined. Once I was all grown up, I moved out of my parents’ house, and I moved into a house of my own.  At first, I thought that it was the perfect house for me to live in, but I was mistaken.

One day, when I was getting ready to eat some spaghetti in the comfort of my new home, I saw a cockroach crawling on the table.  Naturally, I freaked out when I saw it. I grabbed one of my shoes, and I crushed the cockroach until it was dead.  I used a clean napkin to wrap the cockroach up, and threw it in the trash.  I thought that would be the end of it; but my nightmare was just beginning.

After I threw the cockroach in the trash, I saw two more roaches on the floor.  I grabbed a can of Raid to spray them, and those roaches died too; but then, I saw even more roaches appear as they were crawling all over the floor.

Soon, my house became infested  with roaches.  It was like no matter what I did, they just kept coming.  It wasn’t long until I was dealing with an army of roaches. After I realized that they were too much of a problem for me to handle on my own, I decided to call an exterminator to get rid of the roaches. 

When the exterminator got to my house, he was beyond terrified by what he saw.  He said that he’d never seen an infestation like mine in over 25 years.  It was horrible.  Truly horrible. The exterminator used his insecticide to kill half of the roaches; the other half managed to scatter and escape through some cracks and holes in the walls.

The exterminator sprayed the cracks and the holes to make sure that the roaches wouldn’t come back.  He sprayed all around the house.  The only place left to spray was the basement. I opened the door to the basement to let the exterminator in, so that he could spray down there and put an end to my roach problem for good.  

Once the door was open, the exterminator was confident that these would be the last of the roaches; but he was wrong.  The exterminator went in, spraying the last of his insecticide all over the basement to make sure that he killed the rest of the roaches.  

As he was spraying, I let out a sigh of relief.  I thought that my cockroach nightmare was finally over.  Then, suddenly, the spraying stopped, and everything was quiet. At first, I thought that meant that the exterminator had finished his job, and killed the rest of the roaches.  I called out to him, asking if he was done, but there was no answer.

I called out to him again, but still, the exterminator didn’t respond.  I slowly walked down into the basement, where I saw the exterminator at the foot of the stairs, standing motionlessly.  He was trembling with fear, and I didn’t know why.

I asked him if he was okay, as I put my hand on his shoulder.  The exterminator whispered to me, in a fearful tone,

“Run.  Get out of here before it’s too late.”

I was confused by what he meant.  I didn’t understand what he meant until I saw what he was staring at that made him so scared.  I, too, was struck with fear when I saw what he was looking at:

In the center of my basement, just five feet away from us, there were a dozen giant cockroach larvae, squirming around on the floor, as if they were getting ready to emerge from their cocoons.  They were big.  As big as a dog.

I was so scared by what I saw that I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t.  I’d never seen something like this before.  I didn’t know what to do; and the exterminator was just as scared as I was. In fact, he was so scared that he dropped his insecticide on the ground, and he didn’t have the courage to pick it up, for fear of what might happen if he did.

As I was about to grab the exterminator by his shoulder, to help lead him to the stairs, something even more horrible was down there with us.  From out of the shadows, a beautiful woman appeared; but she didn’t look human.  This woman had brown hair, two antennae on her head, black soulless compound eyes, similar to the eyes of an insect, four arms, and she had the wings of a cockroach on her back.

The exterminator and I were speechless.  We didn’t know who or what this creature was, or what it was doing in my basement; but we knew one thing: we had to get out of there quickly.

Unfortunately, just as we were about to turn around, more of her children emerged from behind her.  These roaches were even bigger than the ones in the center, and they looked as if they were ready for their meal.  

Then, without warning, the Roach Queen, as I now call her, pointed her finger towards us, and she let out a big hiss.  Before we could react, her children immediately started crawling towards us with so much speed that we had no choice but to run back up the stairs, and get out while we could.

The exterminator sprayed his insecticide on the giant roaches; but for some reason, it didn’t work.  The insecticide didn’t have any effect on them at all.  Even the Roach Queen wasn’t affected by it. It was as if they were all immune to it somehow.

I managed to get away; but the exterminator wasn’t as lucky as I was.  I looked back, and watched in horror as the Roach Queen’s children devoured the exterminator alive.

I could hear the exterminator screaming for me to help him from under the horde of roaches that were eating his flesh.  I wanted to help him.  Truly, I did, but there was nothing that I could do for him. 

When the roaches were done with him, they left the exterminator’s body nothing but a lifeless husk of bones.  Then, they crawled up the stairs coming straight towards me.

I turned around, and started running again.  As soon as I got to the top of the stairs, I closed the door to the basement, and I locked it from the outside.  I could hear the giant roaches as they were banging on the door, in a desperate attempt to get out so that they could eat me, too.

After I locked the basement door, I grabbed my keys, got into my car, and drove as far away from that godforsaken house as possible, and I never went back.  

I drove all the way to my parents’ house, and told them about what happened to me.  I told them all about the Roach Queen, and the giant cockroaches; but they didn’t believe me.  They thought that I was making it all up.

Then, my parents started laughing at me, thinking that I was joking around; but as they were laughing, I heard scratching noises, and a hissing sound coming from outside. 

I turned around slowly, and I knew that it could only mean two things: The Roach Queen and her children had somehow escaped, and they’d followed me…all the way to my parents’ house.

The End.

Solenopsis invicta, Camponotus pennsylvanicus, Linepithema humile, and Formica rufa. Or commonly known as red imported fire ants, black carpenter ants, Argentine ants, and wood ants. Anthony knew all the names of his favorite creatures. Formicidae were closely related to bees, wasps, and sawflies. Anthony hated all other insects, aside from the tiny black bodies he watched crawling across the sidewalk. His eyes gazed longingly at the single file line, wishing he could shrink down and join them. 

At the young age of five, Anthony found his passion. During the peak of summer, the entire Gloss family went for a picnic by the lake. The air blew in short, hot gusts. Under the cover of a large oak, the heat was bearable. Jason Gloss, the head of the family, had carried the picnic basket. Anthony’s mother, Susan, packed it to the brim with all of their favorite foods. Kathrine, the boy’s sister, laid out the quilt. The patch of vibrant green grass was snuffed out by the hand-sewn cotton fabric. 

“Make sure you apply sunscreen again after we finish eating. You remember the last time you got burnt?” Susan eyed her young son. 

“Yes, Mama. It sucked,” Anthony said, picking at a blade of grass. It snapped off between his tiny fingers. 

“Language, Son.” Jason’s voice was stern and gentle at the same time. Anthony’s dad reached out and ruffled the strawberry blond hair on his son's head.

“Sorry, Papa.” 

When the family had finished their meal, everyone got ready to head into the cool waters of the lake. Everyone except Anthony. He hated swimming in anything but a pool. The murky water hid too many unknowns. Seaweed creatures, large fish with razor sharp teeth, and venomous snakes crossed the boy’s mind. The relief from the blistering sun wasn’t enough to sway him. Getting dragged to the bottom of the lake was much too scary. 

“Make sure you close up the containers when you’re done.” Kathrine spat before running towards the rocky beach. 

“Duh!” Anthony spat back, sticking his tongue out. 

The pop and snap of the Tupperware containers sounded as the boy closed them one by one. Anthony diligently packed up lunch, but left a single container out and open. Inside the blueish green rectangle were pieces of cut up fruit. Kiwis, watermelon, strawberries, and grapes. They were all his favorites. A small greedy smile grew on the boy’s face. As he shoved tiny fistfuls of sweet fruit into his mouth, he noticed something. 

At first, he had passed over the tiny speck - thinking it to be a piece of dirt or a small rock. The boy blinked, and another one appeared. The small dark specks wriggled and moved atop the blanket, headed toward him. Instead of being afraid, a quiet curiosity grew within him. Upon closer inspection, they had legs and antennas/ They were ants. A bug that his father had recently named for him. 

It took but a moment for Anthony to realize that HE was not the ants’ target. Two wiggly specks had turned into an entire row, and they were headed for the container of fruit. Instinctively, the boy reached for the lid, but then hesitated. He was curious to see what the small creatures were up to, and what they would do with the fruit once they attained it. Reaching a tiny, grubby hand into the box, Anthony pulled a chunk of watermelon out and laid it on the cloth. Making sure to place it in front of the leader of the group. 

In awe, the boy watched as the ants tore off chunks of the sugary pink fruit. They carried pieces that looked way too large for their tiny bodies. With the watermelon on their backs, the ants turned around and headed back the way they came. Standing up from his spot on the quilt, Anthony followed. Eventually, the boy and the tiny critters ended up in front of a small hill of dirt with a hole in the middle. It reminded Anthony of a much smaller version of a volcano. Something he had seen many times in his dinosaur picture book. 

The youthful curiosity evolved into something similar to obsession as the boy grew. While other children would stomp on the ants, or pour strange liquids into the anthills. Anthony did his best to protect them. Yelling at the kids who caused harm or using his umbrella to shield the dirt mounds from the rain. It was a difficult job, being the one human who fought for their survival. His protection and admiration was so intense that he was dubbed “Ant” by his classmates. Although it was meant to be a jab, Ant was fond of his new nickname. 

By the time Anthony was in middle school, he had already been labeled as a freak. A badge that he wore proudly, so long as people left him alone. He didn’t need human friends so full of malice and fear. The tiny critters that built their empires in underground labyrinths was all he needed. It was a symbiotic relationship of sorts. While the creatures were provided with food and protection, Anthony was provided entertainment and joy. 

When high school rolled around, Anthony was given a gift by his father and mother. One that he would never forget. Ant had awoken Christmas morning feeling numb and exhausted. It had been many years since he looked forward to such an event. Being forced to be around his family for long periods was the epitome of torture for the young man. His lack of human friendship weighed heavily on his ability to exist around others. That was, until he unwrapped his last gift. 

“No way,” Anthony’s eyes widened in surprise. 

A forced and uneasy smile was painted on Kathrine’s face. His parents, though, grinned with joy at their son’s reaction. It was more than what they’d hoped for. Their son looked genuinely ecstatic, an emotion that they hadn’t witnessed for a long time. 

“Thank you, Mom and Dad.” Anthony shot up from the floor to hug his parents. Both of them patted his back lightly as his arms wrapped around their shoulders. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received." 

“You better make sure none of those things makes it out of that container. If I find one in my room, I’m beating your ass.” Kathrine pointed a finger at the box that sat on the floor. She then used her thumb to draw a line across her throat, glaring at her brother as she did.

“Gosh, Kathy. You don’t have to be such a buzzkill.” Anthony rolled his eyes and returned to the box. 

The container that sat on the floor was made of hard, clear plastic. It had a blue lid that was littered with teeny tiny holes that would let oxygen in. The box itself was mostly filled with dirt. A network of tunnels and pathways had been dug by the bright red creatures contained within. Anthony smirked internally, happy that his parents hadn’t realized that the gift they’d given him was slightly dangerous. For just a moment, he thought of letting one loose in his sister's room. He imagined what her screams would sound like when the fire ant bit her. 

Deciding that letting one of the ants out was a bad idea, Anthony shifted his focus back to his present. He watched as the red insects marched through their maze-like tunnels. Somehow, they always knew where to go and what to do. Anthony wished human life was just the same, and frowned before leaving for his room. 

“Don’t you worry, little guys, I’ll make sure to take great care of you.” Anthony whispered to his new friends when his family was out of earshot. 

Things stayed relatively the same for a while. The Gloss family went about their business, only interacting with Anthony when he’d occasionally leave his room. The family was fine with the way things were - each living their lives - separate, yet under the same roof. 

By the time Anthony was in college, his obsession with ants had turned into madness. Two six-foot shelves had been put up in the young man’s room. His dwelling was tucked away in a section of the mostly finished basement. The perfect environment for the rows and rows of habitats he now possessed. Anthony tried to collect every species of ant he could get his hands on. Some of them were local and some were imported from overseas. 

What sparked Anthony’s abrupt change was the introduction of a science contest. Wanting to prove that his insect friends were special and worthy drove Anthony to do something that no one could’ve imagined. He had already had bits and flashes of an idea, like a word that was on the tip of your tongue. The idea only came to him in full when Anthony wrote his name down for the competition. He knew just what he needed to do. 

“Make sure you eat something before you go to bed,” Susan had suggested, as she packed up dinner leftovers. 

“Sure thing, Mom.” Anthony said with fake enthusiasm. He had purposely sat at the table pushing his food around with the fork. He had been fasting for as long as possible. Preparing himself for what was to come. 

On the last night before the science competition, Anthony taped a note to his bedroom door. It was folded up, hiding the handwritten words within. He hoped that whoever ended up finding it first, would read the contents before entering the room. It was crucial that it be read first. 

“Mom, Dad, Kathy, I’m sure you’ll miss me…but this is what I was always meant to do.” The young man said aloud to himself. The sound of his own voice startled him a little. He eyed the lock on the door, but decided not to use it. It was imperative that he be found as soon as possible once the deed had been done. 

Pulling a bag of potting soil from its hiding spot under the bed, Anthony sat down on the floor in front of it. Using both hands, he ripped the plastic carefully. Not wanting to get any of the dirt on the floor. Anthony may be strange, but he was courteous enough not to leave a mess. 

“One spoonful at a time.” 

Using a plastic ladle he had stolen from the kitchen, Anthony used it to scoop up the soil from the bag. It was mostly dark and dry, aside from the tiny, white fertilizer balls that were incorporated within. Ant lifted the ladle to his mouth and tilted his head back. Instantly, the dirt clung to any bit of moisture it could find. Coating his tongue and throat almost completely. A few coughs and a drink of water later, he swallowed his first helping. 

It took a little over an hour before Anthony reached the bottom of the bag. His stomach felt full and tight, pain zapping out from the organ as it tried to digest what was indigestible. His throat was raw and sore, breath smelling of earth and mildew. He hoped that it was enough for his friends. 

Finally, Anthony stood up from his spot on the floor. Walking to one of the shelves, he carefully selected a terrarium from the rows that waited before him. Dorylus, otherwise known as driver ants, were stored inside. Anthony pulled the container from the shelf and went back to where the empty bag of soil remained. He once again grabbed the ladle, and popped open the lid. 

Anthony knew that he could not chew or bite down. Whilst consuming the dirt, he had done his best to remember that fact. Only using his tongue and throat, keeping his jaws slightly parted. He took a scoop from the terrarium and tilted it into his waiting mouth. 

The sensation was unlike any other. Tons and tons of tiny legs wriggled against his tongue. He felt them pass over his teeth, and rub against the sides of his cheeks. He felt tears form in his eyes as his friends moved within him. It was impossible to shrink down and live among the colony. His best option was to house the colony, within his own stomach. 

As the ants bit and scratched at his insides, Anthony laughed. The pain was intense and unlike anything he had ever felt, but it was overpowered by the sense of elation that filled him. It was overpowered by the sense of finally belonging. One by one the scoops went down his gullet, one by one the ants filled him. 

When Susan awoke in the early hours of the day, she saw that the light in the basement was on. Annoyed by the thought of the electricity bill, she called down to her son in frustration. When there was no response, she stomped down the stairs towards his room. Not thinking anything nefarious had happened aside from falling asleep without shutting everything down, Susan threw open the door. She had bypassed the note that had been taped to the door. 

A scream, so loud and so blood curdling, escaped the middle aged woman. So intense that it had woken up Jason and Kathy, and probably the neighbors two houses down. Susan slammed the door shut and she fell to her knees outside of the room. The horrors that lay within were too much to handle. As she huddled on the floor, the piece of paper fell down slowly to meet her. It landed open, displaying the contents within. 

“I have a new nickname now. I have a new purpose now. Make sure they send my body to the college for study.” 

And it was signed, 

Ant-Hill

The time I worked in a cornfield

Hi im james and this about the time i worked at a cornfield, I decided i wanted to work when i asked my parents for a pc for my birthday but they told me.
“I’m sorry We don’t have the money for a 2 thousand dollar pc but here’s the deal you go out get a job during the summer make 1000 dollars and we will pay for the other half for your birthday that way you feel some accomplishment you do that and we can get it for your birthday.”
I understood that my parents didn’t have the money for a computer, so when my dad said they would pay for half if I could make the other half for it, it motivated me to work on it.
 So the next day I went to every little story in are small town and asked if anyone was hiring, one after another after another each place I went I was told they couldn’t hire me there hiring process ended a month ago apparently they hire during specific seasons who would of though that,I nearly lost hope till I got to the last option where I was hoping not to have to go the old corn field near my house ran by old man Johnathan or old man crank as we called him
“ hey what you want kid, I got work to do and don’t need no kids messing around in the cornfield”
 “Well actually sir I was wondering if you were hiring for the summer, see I’m trying to make enough money during the summer to pay half of the pc I wan—“
“No need for the over explantation, since I respect your father and not many kids your age go out and try to work during the summer anymore, I say why the hell not sure I could use some help, the most I can pay you is 12 dollars a hour I don’t make a whole lot during this time but I don’t see you needing more then 12 dollars a hour and you will work 4 hours a day 4 days a week that should give you more then enough time to enjoy your summer”
“ thank you sir so much you won’t regret this”
“Alright, we’ll be here around 3 tomorrow”
“Alright see you tomorrow”
I rushed home to tell my parents the exciting news although half way through the ride home the realization settled in, I had to work at the cornfield, a story has been told about the corn field that old man crank takes kids that trespass into the corn field kills them and stuffs them inside scarecrow sacks and sits them to warn all the kids and teenagers to stay off his property or maybe they will be next, of course even tho I don’t believe that he would do anything like that I can’t help but stare at the scarecrows that Stands above the cornfield like a shadow looming over the land. But that worry quickly washes over as I remembered the reason I got the job in the first place out of excitement for my pc.
 As I finally pull up to driveway of my  house rolling up my bike pulling it into the garage, then closing the garage door as I walked into the house 
“Mom, dad guess what”
What is it my mom asked
 “Well I did it I got a job at the  corn field down the street 
“Oh that’s wonderful Nathan is a great and respectable man to work for said my dad”
“Well I start tomorrow, and have to be there at 3”
“Well then make sure to be there by 2:45, because you always want to be 15 minutes early”
“Alright dad, I’m tired so ima head to bed, love you”
They both told me they loved me back, as I walked up the stairs began to put on my pajamas and lay down putting in earphones playing music as I looked out to see the corn field as the wind pushed it back and forth I could see the scarecrows swaying back and forth as if they were trying to escape their imprisonment, as I watched them I drifted off to sleep. 
The next morning I woke up at 12 in the afternoon, realizing I slept in I go up and rushed downstairs to eat breakfast an watches till I had to leave, it was 2:20 when I began to head upstairs and get into an outfit I didn’t mind wearing and getting dirty in the field, then I began to walk back downstairs and into the garage opening the door and grabbing my bike and started to ride towards my first shift.
  I jump off my bike as I inch closer to the entrance of the corn field as I begin to walk into the cornfield my back falling an inch off of the asphalt meeting wet and muddy dirt dragging it taking a little more effort to get it inside, 
“Hey, leave the bike right by the entrance.” 
 I leaned the bike against the wall and began to walk over to the old man, “hey sir I was wondering” “no talking ima explain what your going to be doing alright you see there is a lot of corn but not all of it is ready to harvest, over here this look at the silk on the corn you see it’s browning that’s the first sign you look for then you take this pocket knife and just slightly stab the kernel this liquid shows it ready and you can pull it off the stock”. 
 “Okay but question why don’t you have anyone else work here and why do you hand pick why not get a machine that can help”. 
 “Kid, look at this place and look at my home, do I look like I can afford to pay other people to work on the farm or afford equipment to help work on a relatively small corn farm”. 
 “Oh yeah I guess not”. 
Uhh alright well I will be in my house cleaning the corn and then taking my next shipment over to the next state I will most likely be back by morning  so I want you to be here till I get back if you can do that i will give you all the money you need for your device or what ever 
  “What really, 
“Yeah I wasn’t planning on doing this, but I also wasn’t planning on having to leave mid harvest and I can’t do both and get the shipments out on time so if you can do this for me I’m willing to give the money if you do a good job while I’m out of town, you don’t have to work here all summer”. 
“I promise I won’t let you down," I said with excitement.” Alright well I’ll leave you to it if you have any questions knock on the door I want you head back to the house around 9 tonight, you can start wherever you feel like.”
  I then watched as he pulled a wagon with a huge container on it over to where we were standing. “I want you to fill this container up and every time it’s filled, wheel it back to the house and knock on the door. I'll take it and give you another container, you got it.”
 “Yeah.” 
“Great I’ll leave it to you then” 
He proceed to walk away back down the trail to his house, I then yell
“Thank you for the opportunity.” 
As he turned the corner, I then began to walk pulling the wagon the wheels bounce every other pull along the gravel, as I’m about to put on my headphones I hear the loud creak and closing of his front door, then I began to put on my headphones putting on my work playlist I worked on last night and began to walk towards a the splitting section but I stopped in my tracks from this overwhelming since of fear as I see 5 scarecrows all near each other facing towards my direction as the dusk sun casts a looming shadow over the scarecrows as if it was keep something held at bay, what I found weird is that all the corn around the scarecrows where on the ground as if some one or something by pressed them all down in a perfect circle. But as weird as it was I wasn’t gonna let it keep me from that pc so I shrugged it off and began to look at all 5 paths. each one leading to a different section of the cornfield I had to decide which path I would take today and I decide I wanted to go behind the scarecrows trying to convince myself it had nothing to do with the scarecrows themselves using an excuse like I’ll know which path is back to the house since it’s right across from where I was at but I began to walk towards pulling the wagon but out of the uneasiness. I felt I pulled the wagon and me around the scarecrows as I walk past them I couldn’t help but look as they all looked like the wood was about to fall apart moldy and and covered in moss, and underneath the corn I can see drag marks from the old wood cross that gives off the smell of rot and death, frightened I continued to walk further into the path behind the scarecrows as I pulled the wagon and walked further I finally stopped when I couldn’t see hats of the scarecrows anymore.
 I bent down and began to check the corn for any that were ready to be plucked till I saw a big section all of similar color and tested the kernel to see juice flowing out and began to pull one corn at a time. throwing it into the comically large container as I kept throwing it I began to see the son began to go down. As I kept plucking corn, I stopped as I believed I heard rustling coming from the corn stack behind me as I yelled,  old man as I began to walk closer, taking a slight step after slight step feeling the crunch underneath my shoes. I looked in between the corn stocks to see nothing.
 As I began to catch my breath I hear BOO from behind me making my body jump out of my skin, I turned around to see Mackenzie my neighbor and my best friend, I pushed her
“ oh my gosh you scared the crap out of me” 
“hey your the one who told me you where gonna be working today I thought id just stop by and see how it was going”
“Well it was going fine till you just did that”
 “she laughed, I’m sorry what you freaked out think old man crank is gonna get you”
“no and he isn’t as bad as everyone makes him he just doesn’t like kids playing in here”
“Speaking of, you shouldn’t be here if he catches you he’s gonna be mad, and I don’t need you messing up my money.” 
“ Now follow me I need you to get out of here before he notices you so I don’t get in trouble”
  “ Ahhhhh fine she said sarcastically, what’s the big fuss I’m not doing anything wrong”
we began to walk back towards the house as I we walk I see a glimpse of the scarecrows hats  but they looked off not As I remembered them I kept moving anyways focused on the mission to get her out of there, as she’s complaining under her breath I stop in my track as she bumps into me, 
“hey warn me before you stop”
 “Is this some kind of joke! I say with a tremble in my voice”
 “ is What a joke!”
“You turned all the scarecrows towards where I was? I said shaken up”
  “No they were like that when I was walking towards you but they are creepy”
“Okay see I know you're lying, what they turn around all on their own? I say angrily”
  She got up off the ground patting herself down 
“Hey I’m sorry for scaring you earlier but I never touched the scarecrows look how dirty they are. My outfit is clean. she said with a hint of worry in her voice”
I then look up to see smoke coming from a section, 
“ Thank god he’s got the chimney you are going home”
“ Alright, she said with disapproval”
We then began to walk around the scarecrows as we kept walking towards the house I didn’t want to believe it but I felt like the scarecrows never stopped looking at me but I could have written it off it wasn’t for the fact that I could see Mackenzie speed up and I could tell by the look on her face she felt it too 
 We soon ended up back at the house she soon apologized for scaring me and said she would see me in the morning and began to run out of the cornfield 
 I then built up the courage walked up to the door about to knock when I see 3 other crates and a note on the door that read, 
 “Left earlier so I could get back as soon as possible if I’m not back by the time you fill up the boxes feel  free to head home thanks for all the work sincerely old man crank”
 I laughed then began to grab another container placing it on the wagon and began to go back towards the center but then when I saw them again my blood ran cold I new something was off when I couldn’t see there hats anymore but when I got close enough I could see there hats where laying on the ground and I could finally see what the sun was trying to keep hidden horrific faces of over exaggerated expressions the one on the the left looked like it had been crying for hours true agony  the one next to it had the widest smile I’ve bet seen almost uncanny then the one in the middle completely blank as if the emotions had left it entirely then then the one on the right had a almost unnerving stare even tho it had no eyes the light from the moon almost made it look like it had two small pupils in the mast of a sea of darkness and the furthest one hid its face it head twisted at a 180 degree angle i was so horrified by the faces it didn’t even register with me at first that the had turn back around everything in my body told me to run out the gate and leave that’s when I swear everything in me I swear I saw one move just the slightest move but a move none the less I then dropped the handle to the wagon and began to run towards the gate as I feel the crunch of the dried leaves and dirt on the ground as I run I realize the crunching isn’t coming from me it’s coming inside the corn field as I turn my head to see two of the scarecrows where gone as I kept running I get to the gate to find it closed I then try and pull back and forth on it but it won’t budge it was locked I then hear rustling coming from with in the corn I run up the porch stairs to the door I then giggle the handle to find the door is unlocked, I slam the door open close it and lock the door I then go to all the windows and lock them and look for a second door to find none then head to the stairs that lead to the second level of the house to find a window next to the stairs that stairs out to the corn field to see the scarecrows all back on there crosses except they are all turned towards me with the heads staring at me, I then with no other thing to do I cry I cry because there’s nothing else I can do because I know there watching me as I wait I cry I go back down stairs lay down cry until I fall asleep 
  I wake up to the sound off air flying through the chimney the fire is out I wake up looking to see the time 11 in the morning i had been sleeping for 3 hours,
  I then try and light up the fire again cause In my head I knew if the fire is out they could get in, so as soon as I light up the fire I hear banging on the door repeated banging till I hear hey kid you in there then I rushed to open the door to find the old man standing on the door steps, I rushed and hugged him as soon as I did he pulled me off of him and asked what happened, there’s only one box done and why was the gate locked and why was I in the house, 
I then tell him the scarecrows are alive, 
 He then realistically laughed, and told me “what”
 They locked the gate and I hid in the house
“No kid I mean what do you mean scarecrows,
 
“The scarecrows the five scare crows in the corn field”
He then went silent and his face went pale. “hey kid umm I only have one scarecrow?” as we both looked out to hear rustling coming from the cornfield.