Two Sentence Horror Story 9

I scratch an itch–it won’t go away–I tossturngroanthrash against the cotton-thread prison shackle-sheets–GODDAMNIT–I rub my furiously tired eyes–I turn to read the numbers on the clock, the bright red glow mocks me and reminds me how many hours I wrestled with sleep (and how many times I slunk away defeated).  I turn the red glow away, but there across the room, it illuminates a silhouette, an outline of a figure–am I asleep?–is this a dream?–“no” whispers the silhouette.

Two Sentence Horror Stories 8

I leaned in closer to the mirror to get a better look at where I cut myself shaving when all of a sudden, my hand reached forward, broke through the glass, and sliced my throat with the razor. As my fingers fought the spurting blood and fumbled to close the wound, I couldn’t help but notice my reflection smile, lick the blood from the blade, and wave goodbye.

Two Sentence Horror Stories 5

“There’s someone else inside and they’re going to kill me,” she says after I ask her what’s wrong–but we’re clearly alone, I think to myself.  Before I can ask where, she says, “In my h–SHUT UP CHRISTINE,” then after a pause, “there, that’s better.”