HALLOWEEN/Fall Short Story Contest! (2012) Winners Announced

[Conserative Morality]

Should we start looking for another judge? I still haven't gotten any response from Katyuscha.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Should we start looking for another judge? I still haven't gotten any response from Katyuscha.

Not this again...

[North Wiedna]

Should we start looking for another judge? I still haven't gotten any response from Katyuscha.

Not this again... :palm:

Hey, whoa, it's not my fault this time.

[Inyourfaceistan]

Damn... If only I had seen this post sooner...

[Conserative Morality]

Should we start looking for another judge? I still haven't gotten any response from Katyuscha.

Not this again...

I'm resigned to it. It's always just one of the judges...

[Forsher]

Not this again...

I'm resigned to it. It's always just one of the judges...

Replacement judge time? I'd do it just for fun even though I'm a contestant.

[Norstal]

Not this again...

I'm resigned to it. It's always just one of the judges...

Man, I stopped judging for one season...

If there's no replacement judge or the original judge hasn't come back by next Wednesday, I'll be willing to judge. I'll go through it like a speed freak though.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Damn... If only I had seen this post sooner...

You can always get in on the next contest. These are a recurring thing.

[Nazi Flower Power]

If there's no replacement judge or the original judge hasn't come back by next Wednesday, I'll be willing to judge. I'll go through it like a speed freak though.

I would support having you judge.

[Norstal]

If there's no replacement judge or the original judge hasn't come back by next Wednesday, I'll be willing to judge. I'll go through it like a speed freak though.

I would support having you judge.

I'll have to wait for CM's approval.

Take advantage of this limited-time offer!

[Forsher]

I would support having you judge.

I'll have to wait for CM's approval.

Take advantage of this limited-time offer!

He'd be foolish to not accept. We need a judge and you have shown yourself to be a good one as well.

[Conserative Morality]

I'll have to wait for CM's approval.

Take advantage of this limited-time offer!

Hey, I'm just a contestant/guy who records the scores. The word of the judges is the word of God here. If NFP is fine with it and Unidox hasn't objected, go ahead.

[Malagawi]

Is it too late to join this?

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Is it too late to join this?

Just a bit.

[Norstal]

The Raven

Italics are written by Edgar Allan Poe. Credit also goes to him for the idea.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore…

The year was 1874, and the hour was midnight. In the small town of Cambridge, England, a lone scholar poured over an ancient tome of wisdom, found in the midst of an old library. As he had pulled the cover open slowly, the opening words of the first page instantly intrigued him into bringing it to his lonely home, and reading more. His haphazardly organized room was filled with books, laid open at random, their spines broken against the floor. But, truly, knowledge was truly what he seeked, and this was how he found it. Knowledge was what he truly seeked. It wasn’t love. Love was meaningless to him. He just wished to learn, and that was all.

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound filled the silence of the room, breaking the calm atmosphere of the room like glass. The scholar looked down, attempting to ignore the noise. Who would be visiting at this time? It was past midnight. The moon was risen in the sky, illuminating the dark streets of the city in its silver light, and no man walked the streets of the city below. The young man looked up.

`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

He shook his head, thinking to himself, scrambling for an excuse. It wasn’t anything. The noise wasn’t really there. It was probably just late, and his own mind was playing tricks on him. The light of the candle flickered, briefly illuminating a section of a single page. And to a single word of that single section of that single page, his eyes leapt directly to.

Lenore.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

The man shook his head. Why was that name there? How was it here? He shivered in the cold December night, wrapped himself in his cloak, and attempted to return to reading, pressing his thoughts from his mind, attempting to banish them to oblivion. No. He would not think of Lenore. His sorrow would be seen nevermore. There was no meaning in love. His books and knowledge contained all he would ever need. His sorrow for Lenore…his love…named by angels, perhaps, everything about her truly perfect…his sorrow was pointless, and he would leave it.

And then he looked up again.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Suddenly, the curtains of the window fluttered, the amaranthine curtains rippling softly in the wind. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes, frowning deeply. “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.” he muttered to himself. “Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.” he repeated to himself, attempting to affirm reality. “This it is, and nothing more.” he said, more attempting to convince himself than anything else.

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

After a few moments, he stared at the closed door, raising the courage to answer, and then, after a few moments, he cast his hesitation aside and called over to the door.

“Sir, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; but the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, that I scarce was sure I heard you.” he softly whispered towards the door, and then he slowly strode towards the door. His hand grasped around the worn handle, and with a turn, he slowly pushed the door open. Creaking, it slowly came to a stop, revealing…absolutely nothing.

The darkness of the hallway stared back at him, and that was all.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

Had there truly been a knocking? Was he merely mad with grief? Did his own senses deceive him? He stood there, breathing quickly in the darkness, peering directly into the face of the blackness of the hallway. Was she truly dead? Lenore? Truly, he had known she was gone, ripped from the embrace of this sweet world, but, surely, who would come knocking at this hour? Could it be her?

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

The silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no confirmation of truth to his mad dreams. He blankly stared, like he had before, and a single word escaped his lips.

“Lenore!”

There was complete silence, but the mere echo of his word, reverberating back from the blackened hallway.

“Lenore!”

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

Suddenly, the heart of the man filled with anger, and he spun around, walking back into his chamber. Lenore would not be there. Of course she truly would not. There was nobody there. It was just the maddened whispers of his own grief-stricken mind. He would never see her again. And that was all. That was the truth. Filled with grief, he turned and sat back at the desk, attempting to drown his thoughts in reading.

And then there it was again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It came from the window, and truly, it was louder than before.

`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

“Surely, surely that is something at my window lattice. Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore. Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore. Tis the wind and nothing more.” he muttered bitterly to himself, anger reverberating through his words. “Tis the wind and nothing more.” he thought again to himself, and he took another step towards the window.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Reluctantly, his trembling hand reached towards the shutter of the window, and with a quick flash of movement, he flung the window open.

And then, it flew in. Cloaked in black, wrapped in grey, the raven flew in, landing directly upon an old crumbling bust of Pallas, placed directly above the chamber door. It perched there, sat, and did nothing more, but look at the man with its emotionless gaze.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'

The scholar smiled. It was almost amusing. The bird looked as if at a funeral. Grave, stern, and utterly grim. And yet, it was merely a bird, and that was all.

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, though art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore – tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s plutonian shore!” he joked, inwardly laughing at the bird, not expecting a reply.

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And then the raven spoke.

“Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

The scholar stared up at the bird in disbelief, marveling at it. Had it truly spoken to him? Though its answer was not truly an answer – nevermore was not truly a name – it was still amazing that it had spoken. Had this ever happened before? If his mind was not playing tricks on him, and the ebony fowl seated upon the bust above the door had truly spoken, he was…blessed? Surely, no other man had seen such a sight. Standing up, sending the old book to the floor, the scholar adjusted his spectacles, staring into the steely eye of the raven.

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

The raven said nothing, and then it spoke again.

“Nevermore.”

And then it said nothing, yet again. Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered – it sat there, silently, peering over the room. The scholar scowled at it, and muttered to himself.

“Other friends have flown before. On the morrow, he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.” he claimed, mind flashing back to Lenore.

And then the bird repeated it yet again:

“Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

The man jumped backwards, away from the raven, raising his fists into the air. What was the meaning of this? Why was it here? Why had it said this? Was it a blessing? A miracle? A figment of his diseased mind? Dropping his hands to his sides, he stared blankly back at it, and muttered to himself yet again.

“Doubtless, what it utters is only stock and store, caught from some unhappy mater whom unmerciful disaster followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore – till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore of “Never-nevermore”.” he grumbled, attempting to rationalize the creature, sitting upon that crumbling bust, who spoke nothing but of “Nevermore”.

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

Oddly, he found himself grinning yet again. The bird amused him, in its senseless one-word rambling. The grim, ghastly, and gaunt creature which sat above stared at him with steely glare, and yet in his heart, he found no animosity there. What did it mean by its one lone cry – the single word of “nevermore”? Walking back to his desk, he pulled a cushioned seat from the desk, sat it down in front of the crumbling bust on which the bird itself had seated, and then sat down, stroking his chin in his hand, attempting to unravel the meaning of its single cry.

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

For nearly an hour, he sat there, in the lone velvet chair, as the candle melted itself into a pool of melted wax, extinguishing its own light, leaving the room illuminated by nothing but the dim twinkling of the stars and the silver gleam of the moon, and the dim flickers of an old lamp in the corner. What could it mean? His head leaned back as he became lost and thought…and then, slowly, his mind returned to Lenore, and, yet again, he found himself flooded with grief.

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'

The atmosphere of the room grew denser. He could feel it. His grief weighed him down, and it was as if the light itself had vanished from the room. Enraged, he glared at the abomination from hell, the raven, the creature which had begun his torment yet again. Had it not arrived, had the tapping not disturbed him, he could have lost himself yet again.

“Wretch!” the man cried, standing up, sending the chair to the ground, “thy God hath lent the and by these angels he has sent thee – respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

The lone word permeated the room yet again. “Nevermore.” quoth the Raven, feathered coat black as the night.

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

The man shook with rage. This thing of evil was not a blessing. It was a devil, sent to torment him, to remind him of his loss, to chant the cry of the single word which struck to the bottom of the soul. Quivering, the man reached towards one of the books.
“Prophet! Thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted, on this home by horror haunted, tell me truly, I implore, is there balm in Gilead?” he cried, desperately seeking an answer. Was there truly an escape from his grief? Was there any relief? Inwardly, he knew the answer, and he dreaded it, but, in a last spark of hope, he cried his question to the prophet.

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

The lone word filled the silence, crushing out the last spark of hope.

“Nevermore.”

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'

Shaking in grief and horror, the man tearfully looked up at the Devil yet again. For that was what it was. A demon. A prophet, nonetheless, but a demon.

“Prophet! Thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or devil! By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore! Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, it shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore! Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?” he cried, tears streaming down his eyes.

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the Raven stared, with its steely cold black glare, repeating it’s solemn word in whole, striking directly to the man’s soul.

“Nevermore.”

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'

With a cry of rage, the man hurled the book he was holding at the Raven. It hit the wall, and split into a cascade of pages, paper drifting to the floor, covering any semblance of order.

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” he screamed, tears streaming down his face.

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take they form off my door!” he screamed again, voice rising to its peak, filled with agony and pain.

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

It was as if the demon was smiling at him. It gave no expression. Only the steely stone cold stare of the bird remained, coldly mocking him in ways unexplained. It opened its piercing beak, black as night, to give the reply it had always given.

“Nevermore.”

And it sat there still, upon the crumbled bust of Pallas, staring with its cruel eyes, making no motion whatsoever.

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

With a crash, the man fell to his knees, sobbing, completely broken. With bloodshot eyes, he stared at the demon yet again. Its stare remained unchanged. His eyes, dark as midnight, showed no sign of emotion, no sign of thought, but at the same time, the eyes were the eyes of a demon. The lamp flickered, briefly illuminating the Raven, and throwing his ghastly shadow upon the man, and on his broken soul.

And that soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor…shall be lifted nevermore.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Yes, this isn't very good (quite bad, actually), and, yes, I'm not even 100% sure if the genre this falls in is horror, and, yes, it's just a basic retelling of Edgar Allan Poe's marvelous poem, but I wrote this a while (a year or two) back, and I decided I might as well enter it anyway.

If the idea's acceptable, I'll refine and touch it up to the point when it isn't so bad.

Characters - 5/25

Like NFP said, it's very one-sided. You have to shape the character on your own. Use your own ideas about the character's life, what the context of his life is.

Plot - 10/25
Whilst the idea is interesting, I think you relied too much on the poem to shape the story. I mean, it needs to be more innovative. What I expected was that your own story was an alternate story that reflects the poem. Instead, what we have here is just a story of the poem, which is just the poem with more words.

I'll give you points because it's an interesting idea and I encourage you to do something like this with another poem. Except with more pizzazz.

Setting - 1/15

I think you just copied directly from the poem...

Creativity - 2/10

Again, great idea, you just need to work on it a bit more. Don't just copy the original work.

Style - 5/10

I find the way you segue your story into the poem a bit awkward. I think you can improve it a bit. There's also repetitive dialogue. The way you handle your own language though, is decent.

Theme - 5/10

Gritty, dark. Not much more to say about this.

Grammar/spelling - 4/5

Saw some mistakes.

Overall - 32/100

[Norstal]

It was a dark and stormy night. Yes, I know that line sounds so goddamn cliche, but when you were stuck on side of the road at 2 AM with a swirling chilly wind and a heavy drizzle on an overcast night along Route 167 in the middle of Louisiana; what else could you describe it as, a fricking warm sunny day? Of all the things that could go wrong when travelling between Little Rock, Arkansas and Lafayette, Louisiana when your 15 year old piece-of-shit car won't go over 50 on Interstate 49, so your forced to have to follow the old US route; having your engine over heat about 25 miles south of Ruston is one of the top five. Even worse, 'your dog', the only one of the three your ex-wife let you have, a yappy Yorkshire Terrier, won't stop yapping while you pop the hood. She gets to have your two boxers, while you're stuck with the dog equivalent of an alarm buzzer.

After about ten minutes of waiting for the engine too cool off enough for me to check to see what had caused the overheating, I noticed that the little yapper wasn't yapping any more. 'Maybe he finally fell asleep' I thought as I looked into the back seat. The liitle yorkie had pissed all over one of my duffel bags that he was laying on. "You fucking piece of shit!" I yelled, as I reached for the dog to whack it's stupid little ass for pissing on most of my clothes. Then a flash of lightning flared overhead, and I saw what had made the dog not only piss himself, but stop barking. Whatever it was, it was big and hairy, and lumbering towards the car.

Now I'm not one of those people who are easily frightened, but whatever this thing was, it reached the primeval soul within all of us and that primeval being was yelling at the top of its lungs to the rational portion of my brain: 'GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE, NOW!' I grabbed the dog, still don't know why, grabbed the keys to the car and started running down the road. With the wet road, conditions not being the best to set a new world record for the 100 meter dash, coupled with the darkness of the night and that I hadn't any sleep in about 18 hours; I promptly fell flat on my face about 20 yards from the car. The dog, suprisingly, wasn't squished during my fall and it leapt from my arms, running down the road faster than I'd ever seen the little furball move before. As I picked myself up and prepared to follow the dog down the road, I could feel the breath of whatever it was breathing on my neck and back.

All the cliches that people say when they are faced with immenent death are true; as flashes of my life flared into my mind. My first day of school, my first crush, first time riding a bike, first kiss, first heartbreak, when I lost my virginity, my wedding day, my wedding night, the day at the courthouse when the divorce became final. It seemed like it took an hour, but probably was about a second before I noticed that the thing was still there. I kneeled there on the wet ashpalt, afraid to move, I could just see out of the corner of my eye, that the thing's foot was just to the left of me. It was about as big as the dog was, covered in blackish fur. As I stayed frozen, the foot was joined by another foot, just as big, but moving around me. 'Great whatever this is, it's taking its sweet-ass time to decide if it will eat me now ot later' I thought. Whether it was the lack of sleep combining with the slowing off of the adrenaline pumping through my system or something else, I then collapsed onto the road.

I awoke a few hours later and in a sense of panic didn't know where I was. My glasses were off and I couldn't find them. As I slowly looked around, I found myself in a cabin with numerous animals and animal heads on the walls. A few deer, a black bear, a couple of beavers were the first I noticed, as an unsual smell permeated the air. It smelled like pork, but if it was very gamy. I found my glasses, and lifted myself off of the couch I had been laying on. 'Hello? Is someone here?' I asked a couple of times, with no reply. I moved towards the smell and saw that it was coming from a bubbling pot on the stove. I opened the lid and instantly became nauseous. It appeared to be a small animal that had recently been skinned, but not very well, as there were a couple of clumps of fur still on it. Greyish-white fur, the same color as my dog's fur. I dumped the pot onto the floor, then ran out of the kitchen and out the door, stomach heaving along the way. The rain had stopped and there was slight rosy color coming from the east, as the dawn of a new day was breaking. I heard a door slam from the other side of the cabin, and not being a movie cliche, I took off down the gravel road, hoping it would lead back towards the highway and my car.

The old logging road became muddy about a half-mile away from the cabin, and with the recent rain was not only slippery but viscous. It was like running through maple syrup or oatmeal, but whatever rational portion of my brain was left had checked out and only the hippocampus-lead autonervous system was left in control. Just breathe and keep running until your safe was all my body was told to do, and that it did. After an indeterminable amount of time, the sounds of an ATV being started filled the air, and the last vestiges of adrenaline that my body could produce coursed through me. As the sound of the ATV drew closer, and my body neared exhaustion, a black glimmer of hope entered my vision. The highway was just ahead... only another 200 feet... legs heavy as lead... can barely breathe... 100 feet... there's a car! a disembodied yell for help... 50 feet... is that car pulling over??? another yell from somewhere unknown... BLACKNESS...............

I awoke again a few hours later, this time in a hospital bed with restraints on my arms and legs. 'Why am I restrained?' I thought, struggling against the restraints. Numerous nurses and doctors were just outside of my field of vision, and they were speaking in a wordless mutter, at least to my hearing. They weren't paying attention to me, as I continued my struggle and after a few moments, my left arm wiggled free. As I became more aware of my surroundings, while undoing the strap on my right arm; I noticed that I was alone in the room, and the nurses and doctors were outside of the room, which probably would explain why I really couldn't hear them. Looking further around the room, the stark whiteness of the walls confused me, as did the machine sitting about three feet away from me. It looked like something out of a science-fiction story, with beeping lighted knobs, glowing dials, stainless steel switches and something that looked like a 1960's oscillioscope. I reached slowly down and began to undo the straps that held my legs, the door into the room swung open.

"Nurse! Call security, the patient has gotten out of his restraints, again." the doctor called over his shoulder.

'Again?' I thought, as a big burly security guard came in with a cattle-prod and pointed it at me. I'm not stupid, so I laid back down, as the nurse re-tightened the restraints on my legs and put my arms back into the straps, making sure that it would be tougher for me to escape again.

"Why do you keep resisting?" the doctor asked me, though obivously not expecting an answer. "All the other subjects either quit after the second simulation or died of shock. But you, you're proving to be stubborn. Of the previous subjects only one other has lasted through as many simulations as you have. But even she died after the 7th simulation. This will be your eighth simulation, Mr. 1977246. Let's see if you survive this one."

It was a dark and stormy night. Yes, I know that line sounds so goddamn cliche, but when you were stuck on side of the road at 2 AM with a swirling chilly wind and a heavy drizzle on an overcast night along Route 167 in the middle of Louisiana; what else could you describe it as, a fricking warm sunny day? Of all the things that could go wrong when travelling between Little Rock, Arkansas and Lafayette, Louisiana when your 15 year old piece-of-shit car won't go over 50 on Interstate 49, so your forced to have to follow the old US route; having your engine over heat about 25 miles south of Ruston is one of the top five. Even worse, 'your dog', the only one of the three your ex-wife let you have, a yappy Yorkshire Terrier, won't stop yapping while you pop the hood. She gets to have your two boxers, while you're stuck with the dog equivalent of an alarm buzzer.

After about ten minutes of waiting for the engine too cool off enough for me to check to see what had caused the overheating, I noticed that the little yapper wasn't yapping any more. 'Maybe he finally fell asleep' I thought as I looked into the back seat. The liitle yorkie had pissed all over one of my duffel bags that he was laying on. "You fucking piece of shit!" I yelled, as I reached for the dog to whack it's stupid little ass for pissing on most of my clothes. Then a flash of lightning flared overhead, and I saw what had made the dog not only piss himself, but stop barking. Whatever it was, it was big and hairy, and lumbering towards the car.

Now I'm not one of those people who are easily frightened, but whatever this thing was, it reached the primeval soul within all of us and that primeval being was yelling at the top of its lungs to the rational portion of my brain: 'GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE, NOW!' I grabbed the dog, still don't know why, grabbed the keys to the car and started running down the road. With the wet road, conditions not being the best to set a new world record for the 100 meter dash, coupled with the darkness of the night and that I hadn't any sleep in about 18 hours; I promptly fell flat on my face about 20 yards from the car. The dog, suprisingly, wasn't squished during my fall and it leapt from my arms, running down the road faster than I'd ever seen the little furball move before. As I picked myself up and prepared to follow the dog down the road, I could feel the breath of whatever it was breathing on my neck and back.

All the cliches that people say when they are faced with immenent death are true; as flashes of my life flared into my mind. My first day of school, my first crush, first time riding a bike, first kiss, first heartbreak, when I lost my virginity, my wedding day, my wedding night, the day at the courthouse when the divorce became final. It seemed like it took an hour, but probably was about a second before I noticed that the thing was still there. I kneeled there on the wet ashpalt, afraid to move, I could just see out of the corner of my eye, that the thing's foot was just to the left of me. It was about as big as the dog was, covered in blackish fur. As I stayed frozen, the foot was joined by another foot, just as big, but moving around me. 'Great whatever this is, it's taking its sweet-ass time to decide if it will eat me now ot later' I thought. Whether it was the lack of sleep combining with the slowing off of the adrenaline pumping through my system or something else, I then collapsed onto the road.

I awoke a few hours later and in a sense of panic didn't know where I was. My glasses were off and I couldn't find them. As I slowly looked around, I found myself in a cabin with numerous animals and animal heads on the walls. A few deer, a black bear, a couple of beavers were the first I noticed, as an unsual smell permeated the air. It smelled like pork, but if it was very gamy. I found my glasses, and lifted myself off of the couch I had been laying on. 'Hello? Is someone here?' I asked a couple of times, with no reply. I moved towards the smell and saw that it was coming from a bubbling pot on the stove. I opened the lid and instantly became nauseous. It appeared to be a small animal that had recently been skinned, but not very well, as there were a couple of clumps of fur still on it. Greyish-white fur, the same color as my dog's fur. I dumped the pot onto the floor, then ran out of the kitchen and out the door, stomach heaving along the way. The rain had stopped and there was slight rosy color coming from the east, as the dawn of a new day was breaking. I heard a door slam from the other side of the cabin, and not being a movie cliche, I took off down the gravel road, hoping it would lead back towards the highway and my car.

The old logging road became muddy about a half-mile away from the cabin, and with the recent rain was not only slippery but viscous. It was like running through maple syrup or oatmeal, but whatever rational portion of my brain was left had checked out and only the hippocampus-lead autonervous system was left in control. Just breathe and keep running until your safe was all my body was told to do, and that it did. After an indeterminable amount of time, the sounds of an ATV being started filled the air, and the last vestiges of adrenaline that my body could produce coursed through me. As the sound of the ATV drew closer, and my body neared exhaustion, a black glimmer of hope entered my vision. The highway was just ahead... only another 200 feet... legs heavy as lead... can barely breathe... 100 feet... there's a car! a disembodied yell for help... 50 feet... is that car pulling over??? another yell from somewhere unknown... BLACKNESS...............

Character - 10/25

There was no context, nothing notable about the characters. I feel that the tone is way too casual and at the same time, it's like reading the ramblings of a mad man (which kinda makes sense I suppose). I think you need more time developing the character, it just feels too rushed for me.

Plot - 15/25

The denouement was somewhat of a twist, but I do think there are some unresolved plot-lines. How he just got teleported into a cabin and into the hospital. I could not even identify any conflict that's worth mentioning or memorable enough. It's just one guy being chased by something which turned out to be a simulation and...that's it.

In a way, I can say that you're showing the futility of life, of how you can never escape conflict, an existential horror. Props on that; not many authors would touch on the philosophical concept of nihilism (I think that's what it is). I just think that, it could've been presented in a better way. Make the character jump through hoops, not just a linear plot like this.

Setting - 12/15

I guess you did specified the setting decently, but you do need to put more details in it.

Creativity - 4/10

I didn't see anything noteworthy here, except again, the hospital ending. Though I kinda expected that a bit.

Style - 5/10

Again, too casual for me. It might be just because of my tastes though, so don't take it too hard.

Theme - 10/10

I suppose you should get 10 for this.

Grammar/spelling - 4/5

There were some errors that I saw.

Overall - 60/100

[Norstal]

I awoke slowly, the room of the cabin a hazy mix of colours and blurred outlines whilst rain pattered against the window pane. I gazed over at the girl lying next to me. She had long auburn hair with delicate features and light skin not yet accustomed to Lalonde's tropical climate. She had a petite nose and small curved lips with rosy cheeks that made her look like a fairy or an elf. I smiled and then grimaced as a burst of pain shot through my head. What had we been drinking last night?

Oi dickhead! A thick cockney accent was broadcast straight into my brain at an almost painful intesity. I jolted upright taking most of the blanket with me as the voice repeated itself again. Get a fucking detoxification program running now! That was some weird shit you had last night. Jesus we had to run programs to keep you alive whilst you slept you prick. Don't you think about what some of this shit can do to you?

Man just give me a break already. Jesus you stick me on a dead end planet with no form of modern equitment and expect me to sit around twiddling my thumbs waiting for you to give me orders? I broadcast back using my neural implants.

Get that program running!

I sighed and put the detoxification program into use. The girl next to me sat up revealing her bare abdomen from beneath the blanket.

"You alright babe? You seem... troubled." She said softly.

I went to answer back but closed my mouth when I couldn't remember her name. Angie? Angela? It doesn't matter now anyway.

"I'm fine thanks." I muttered, almost to myself. The detoxification program was clearing my thoughts and my headache. The room now showed its true colours. Dark brown wood covered almost every surface apart from an imported fabric sofa. I stood up, quickly grabbing clothes and forcing them over my boosted muscles. Dungarees and a tight vest I discovered I had put on where common on Lalonde. The heavy labour and tropical climate made anything else useless. Colonists came with high-tech thermo gear designed to lose heat and keep the body cool but were quickly robbed of all there valuables leaving them with standard issue jumpsuits. They crowded onto the boats such as the one I was on, hoping to get quickly downriver to start a new life on a fresh planet where anything was possible. What bullshit that was.

Of course, you may be wondering why I was there for my sour view towards colonists surely means I'm wasn't one. Well you're right. Sorta.

I'm was intelligence agency operative stationed on a stage one colony world where hopefully I wouldn't cause "too much damage". My assignment? Monitor illegal drug smuggling. So far I had monitored 94 illegal drug schemes. Mainly through participation. I was currently going downriver to investigate some disappearances of colonists. In my opinion it was just another excuse to shove me off somewhere else I wasn't wanted. Maybe I should have gone rouge.

Get on the deck. You're nearly there.

Yes boss I replied, adding a hint of sourness to my broadcast.

I strolled up onto the deck and was greeted by a thick flurry of rain. Thunder crashed overhead as the boat stormed downriver like a log flume. I walked towards starboard, my muscle implants and neural implants keeping me steady despite the rocking of the boat. At last, the boat stopped at its destination. I slung my pack over my shoulder and walked down the gangplank. The chubby immigration officer looked me in the eye expectantly but instead of showing him my passport I shoved a wad of Francs into his hand. He seemed pleased. I screwed my nose up at the hot,dense jungle air coupled with the stench of the animals that roam free in all of Lalondes villages.

I climbed onto a hired horse and started my slow journey into the savannah to investigate.

It was midafternoon when things started happening. Lights seemed to flash in the distance, hoots and wails came from above me and further into the jungle and shadows seemed to creep closer as I rode by. Every now and then I would run an infra-red scan with my retina implant only to reveal an abnormal coldness in Lalonde's tropical jungle. It was later when I saw the dead kroclion. A huge cat analouge with traits suited perfectly to the jungle environment. A menace among Lalonde's population, it was the hunter's greatest enemy, the child's nightmare. And now one lay dead at my feet.

Burn marks covered its neck and head while a gaping hole in its chest glistened in the sunlight; blood still flowing from its torn blood vessels. There was no other blood, no trace of any other involvement. Just a dead kroclion.

Suddenly, a cloub blotted out the sun like an eclipse. I switched to infra-red vision immeadiately to find myself surrounded by these... things. They were huge with bulky arms and short legs designed to keep the creature on its feet at all times. I smaller thing stepped out from behind one and broadcast a signal into my brain. A posh voice spoke.

How very nice of you to visit us here! We're all so happy here aren't we? Those colonists and I. I hope you like what I've done to them!This was followed by a grunt from all of the creatures.

I slowly dismounted, keeping myself facing the small thing at all times. I broadcast back, giving them a warning. I also tried broadcasting back to base but found my signal being blocked by a highly advanced electronic warfare field. At the same time my laser implant in my eye shut down. I crouched down slowly and bowed my head. One of the things grasped my shoudlers. Click The thing recoiled, hooting and wailing as a virus contained in an implant in my shoulder blades destroyed nerves and ripped blood vessels causing the thing to thrash about and hurt its companions. I spun around firing a dart from an implant in my wrist containing an electrical charge of proportions enough to bring down an elephant. The dart pierced the eye of the thing and instantly delivered its payload. The thing dropped straight backwards.

One grasped my neck and my unarmed training kicked in. I grasped the deformed hands, snapping a tendon in the index fingers, and spun causing the thing to go rolling along the ground before my steel toe cap boots backed by slabs of boosted muscle crashed into its face shattering the jaw before another kick fractured the skull. My neural implants reported the laser implant was back online. I turned and fired directly into the face of the last monstrosity, burning through flesh and bone, instantly cauterising all wounds but destorying all brain tissue.

Light returned abruptly. I switched off the implants to see a small man standing before me. He was dressed smartly in an expensive suit with a top hat and monocle. His heavily wrinkled face burst into a smile as I looked bewildered at him. I tried to look around but my gaze was fixed by an unknown force. I could not broadcast, my implants were shutting down, a fire burned in my legs and feet, slowly spreading up my body before I was encompassed in pain. All the while the man smiled. I gasped for air whilst agony erupted in my brain like lava had burst forth from my head. My eyes went blind and a million stings hit me as if I was covered in wasps. Still the old man smiled.

Everything stopped. The old man took one look into my eyes.

"This is the end"

Pain filled everything.

Characters - 5/25

Generic characters. Severe lack of context. Interesting use of technology to characterize, but in the end, it was its only strong point and the characters are not fleshed out real well. Make the characters more memorable, more unique.

Plot - 10/25

It wasn't particularly moving. Lack of exposition with a short rising action and a deflated climax. Unsatisfying denouement. Use of background to tell the story works to some extent. I also felt that it was too short.

One problem that many sci-fi writers have is that (and I encounter this almost every time I judge a writing contest) it alienates the reader. Explain the technology that the characters use. How the implants are used, what they look like, etc. I can sympathize that this is a short story so you might not have the time, so I won't take away too much points for this.

Setting - 14/15

Interesting choice of words to describe details. I defer to NFP's comment on this if you want to know the flaws.

Creativity - 7/10

Points for describing the setting.

Style - 5/10

It was weird to say the least. I think that you need to relate to your audience more, see if the things that you write aren't awkward.

Theme - 1/10

I can't rightly give you that much points since it's not really horror.

Grammar/spelling - 3/5

There was a lot of typos I saw. So much that it breaks the flow.

Overall - 45/100

[Norstal]

For me horror lies more in the construction than the decoration, if you know what I mean.

The tall deathly thin woman stared across the room at the imposing stocky man. Neither blinked… both considered the poor construction of the scene and pondered what sort of mad man would create it. After all, with a good ten metres, maybe fifteen, of plain white space between them any action would involve much high volume banter. Plus, that sort of distance would involve an irritating amount of neck twisting. However, neither the empty woman nor the man moved closer. Something just felt right about this distance, as though they knew that the architect of their lives, as impersonal as he was, could appreciate the lack of artistic depth but had no plot justified reason to do anything about it. For the lady, space was a mere obstacle in time. For the man, time hindered space. In a very real sense, their mutual positions reflected what it had taken to get to that room to face who they faced.

Twelve had fought countless demons, dragons and mortals in her long arduous journey from the underworld to the last stage of death, that space of memory and time. Some called it a coma. For others it was a persistent vegetative state. As far as Twelve and her two syllable name were concerned it was the final step, the last chance saloon, at least until next time. Well, she was pretty sure there was a next time; you only died once, after all. Her long flowing deep purple hair was also likely to revert back to its original black once she returned to life as well. Life was never something that Twelve had got to enjoy. She had died just after being born never getting as much as a name. To her demon Warlord father that was the same as having no soul. Which meant, as far as Demon Warlords with poor English are concerned, that she was one of them. He’d fought long and hard to add her to his brood, attracted by the indigo hair. In the millennia since her death she’d learnt to take the ideal form to be reborn, that of a seventeen year old version of who she could have been.

Vincent had a far less interesting journey to the gaping mouth of hell. He’s been hit by a bus. To be fair, he had intended for that to happen and the bubbling green slime which he had consumed just hours earlier had meant survival was assured. For Vincent his purpose was far less admirable than that of the half-demon Twelve. Where she wanted to live for the first time, he wanted to rob Death’s realm of one of its rare jewels: the One Diamond. How he had learnt of it was largely a mystery but his hands bore the trade-marks of an addict. The shrinking of the fingertips, the pale palms and sunken eyes spoke of hours whiled away in the deep pleasure of ancient manuscripts. Like a wolf he tracked down the last resting place of Merlin and lion-like his savagery freed the wizard then and there of his ancient curse, only to learn, as one often metaphorically does, that his quest was in vain… Merlin had let his qualifications lapse and had to retrain. Five years later Vincent was back and within the space of a year he’d returned to the white room. Although this time there was no motorcycle accident. All Vincent had to do was break down the door and return with the One Diamond. The problem was that Twelve was in the way.

While the white room was nearly fifteen metres long it left barely enough room for one person to pass through. Going back was not an option, the doors only functioned when all the ones before them had been opened… by the same hand. It seemed as though Fate had brought the Diamond thief and the would-be victim’s doting daughter together for mortal combat.

“Who are you?”

“I am Twelve, the majestic daughter of the Demon Warlord One.”

“Perfect.”

Characters - 5/25

That's not a bad context, but other than that, there's nothing more that can be said about characterization.

Plot - 3/25

Pretty much what NFP said. It's too short. It feels like you just wrote about the rising action of a story despite what could have been a great exposition.

Setting - 5/15

Creativity - 2/10

Style - 5/10

Good choice of words. I do feel that some of the descriptions are too much or unnecessary.

Theme - 5/10

Well, I could see some bits of horror in it, but not good enough.

Grammar/spelling - 4/5

Some common grammar mistakes.

Overall - 29/100

[Norstal]

I'm going to be really busy these next two weeks preparing for my finals, just a heads up.

[The Ben Boys]

Are you going to do a winter contest? If so, is it going to have a holiday/dark theme, or...

[North Wiedna]

Are you going to do a winter contest? If so, is it going to have a holiday/dark theme, or...

I was actually going to ask the same thing because I have a nice idea.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Are you going to do a winter contest? If so, is it going to have a holiday/dark theme, or...

I was actually going to ask the same thing because I have a nice idea.

I think we are planning to have another contest after this one, but the details like theme and deadline are not settled.

[Forsher]

I'm going to be really busy these next two weeks preparing for my finals, just a heads up.

That's okay. I understand exams. I expect we'll see the last few judgements then.

Very pleased with mine.

45.2 (1dp).

[Norstal]

If it's not too late to participate, then I will do so.

I'll edit the story in later.

The Twisted Soul

It was a cold autumn night, around 10:00pm, in the quaint settlement of Adanton. Jack Harris, a 17-year old lad with wavy black-ish brown hair, blue eyes and a bulky physique, and his friends, Eliza Turnbull, Michael Matthews and Robert Palin were outside, around a roaring bonfire. Eliza was the same age as Jack, and she was considered to be very beautiful, with her long, blonde locks, her blue eyes and slightly puckered lips, as well as a lean physique - plus, she was... let's just say, "well endowed". Michael and Robert were both 18 and both had short, brown hair, with Michael deciding to have a quiff in his hair. The two had brown eyes and an average build.

They were sitting outside, around a roaring bonfire, after a large Halloween party - surprisingly, none of them had managed to become extremely drunk - one of the guests had been taken to hospital after slipping and splitting his head open on a door. The blood remained in that spot as the others were too inebriated to clean it up. The wind was strong, which built up the fire further. Suddenly, a strange noise came from the west, the direction in which Diamond Forest lay. However, Jack and his friends dismissed this as someone messing around. "What the hell was that?" said Eliza with an alarmed tone. "Ah, it's probably someone playing silly buggers." Jack retorted.

Although they thought this was a hoax, there was another strange occurrence. A small amount of white light was being emitted by something in the forest. Despite its quantity, it was extremely bright - this could not have been from a torch or a fire. "Hang on, what's that?" Jack said, with the others replying with a collective "I don't know". Jack decided to investigate, with Eliza, Michael and Robert following suit about a minute later.

After 10 minutes or so, they had progressed deep into the forest, eventually finding the light. However, there didn't seem to be anything around that could be considered as a light source. It was just a ball of light, hovering there in the pitch black night. It seemed to head in the direction of the notorious Holloway mansion, once home to the sinister Holloway family, who oppressed, tortured and even murdered their employees at their now abandoned furniture factory. Adanton had gained a negative reputation because of this. Thinking that somehow, this light may have been try to direct them there, Jack and his friends consulted the idea and decided to advance towards the mansion. Jack thought "Is that... thing, whatever it is, telling us to go up to the old Holloway place?"

Jack turned on his torch, which he had picked up just before heading into the forest, but when he did this, the strange light faded away, and seemed to move in the direction of the mansion. The four saw this as a certainty that the light was telling them to head to the mansion - but as soon as they got prepared to move, they heard footsteps. Heavy, loud footsteps. There wouldn't be anyone in this part of the woods at this time of night, and none of the members of the group had actually started walking yet. "OK, I'm really getting creeped out," Michael stated. "How the f**k do you think I feel?!" Eliza snapped. They ran, disturbed at the weird phenomena unfolding before their senses.

They reached the mansion after sprinting up an infamous mountain pass, known for taking many off guard and taking their lives. Whilst they were walking up the uneven, decrepit stone steps, the colossal door creaked open. The wind had probably opened the door, as Jack had noticed the door was ajar. Within a split second of this happening, Robert tripped on a step, jutting out from the others. He had smashed his face against the side of the stairway, and he had twisted his ankle. The mobile phone signal up here was virtually non-existent, so calling an ambulance was out of the question. Jack and Michael flung his arms around their shoulders, but he could hardly walk due to his twisted ankle and heavy concussion. With great difficulty, the group entered the mansion.

Luckily, there was a light switch. Jack pressed this immediately, and the large but shoddy chandelier hanging from the ceiling flickered into life. It revealed a dingy, dusty entrance hall which was laced with cobwebs. However, the foul conditions were the least of their worries. Robert was losing a lot of blood and if he kept losing it at the rate he was, he would only be seconds away from death. A trail of blood had already been left from where he had been dragged.

Jack turned around, and at that very moment, Robert became motionless. He had stopped breathing.

Robert was dead.

"NOOOO!" screamed Jack. His scream echoed down the massive halls of the house. Eliza felt faint. "Guys, help, I think I'm going to faint..." she said, before collapsing backwards. She slammed against the wall. Jack was in disarray.

Then the footsteps returned. Eliza had begun to hover in the air. The statue of a knight began to move ever so slightly. Eliza's unconscious body flew across the room and smashed into the statue. The knight's axe was buried deep into the left side of her waist. There was no doubt that Eliza was dead as well. "Th-th-th-there's something going on here..." Jack stammered to Michael in a terrified manner. "We need to get to the bottom of this thing and stop it," Michael replied, "or the whole town's going to be endangered."

They progressed towards different rooms in the house. Suddenly, Michael catapulted into a room, and the door slammed. The lights went out. Jack was absolutely petrified. He heard Michael screaming in the room, and then he heard a noise, like a sword being sheathed, and the screaming stopped. Jack heard a voice from behind him saying "We don't like trespassers here." The lights turned back on, and Jack turned around, but there was no-one there. Staring at the floor, Jack had realised that it was him going into the forest, his decision to investigate, his belief that the light was leading them to the Holloway mansion, that had resulted in the deaths of his friends. No he was alone, in a spooky, dark, almost labyrinthine building, with almost no chance of escape.

Everywhere on the walls, the same phrases were scribbled - "We don't like trespassers here." The footsteps were following him. A voice said "Go to the armoury, and we will let you live." The writing on the walls now changed to this. He hurled a candlestick at the wall. It smashed, then an apparition flashed in his face and screamed at him, just like in the Scary Maze Game, which Jack had played before. He was absolutely terrified. He racked his brains, trying to think of an excuse that tried to avert the blame from him. Was he beginning to become insane? Had the events which had unfolded turned him into a psychopath? Or was this just a side effect of the crippling fear which he was experiencing?

He began to hallucinate. He saw blood streaming from the walls, the ceiling, the floor - blood leaking from every single orifice. He saw the ghosts of his friends circling him repeating the phrase "How could you do this? You killed us..."

Around 15 minutes later, a broken, depressed Jack entered the armoury. His once neat hair had become dishevelled and his eyes were bloodshot. The apparition appeared in the corner. It was wearing a top hat, expensive Victorian era-style clothing, and a cane. There was no doubt that this was the ghost of Albert Holloway, once the homeowner of the mansion. He said "So, Jack... you've decided to trespass on my property. You seem to have discovered my scheme." "What the hell was your scheme, anyway?" Jack replied, but he only got "Hmph... you don't know, do you? And you will never find out." A split-second after this, Jack was hit by a huge invisible force which rocketed him across the armoury and into a glass pane. It smashed, and an array of swords, axes and other weapons spilled out - they pierced his legs and severed his left hand.

The apparition said "I suppose you have learnt your lesson. I'll tell you my scheme now. I was planning to cause a leak in the town's natural gas supply. Then, when somebody creates a spark, the town would have gone up in flames. And, with you out of the way, the plan shall not stop."

He blacked out.

The following verse then appeared all over the interior and exterior of the mansion, and was the epitaph on his gravestone.

He was the lad who dared to enter that house
But he did not reach his goal:
His death was his salvation
He was saved from his twisted soul.

(I know it's terrible, but it doesn't matter. It's just a game.)

Characters - 10/25

Lack of context for each character. Seems generic to me. The characters were pretty much just sheep waiting to be slaughtered, which just makes it less memorable to me. Great description on the villain though.

Plot - 10/25

Lot's of cliches and most of the deaths are unsatisfying to me. It could've been any other Halloween horror stories out there. It seems a bit awkward at times too. I mean, this is probably one of the fewest stories I read where a character died for tripping.

Setting - 10/15

Had no problem with this. I thought it was adequate, but not that good either. I guess more description of the forest would be nice.

Creativity - 5/10

As I've said, it could've been any Halloween story out there. I didn't there was anything new or creative in it, save for how you constructed the story.

Style - 7/10

Could've been better.

Theme - 7/10

As much as it is cliched, it still fits the theme.

Grammar/spelling - 5/5

Didn't see any.

Overall - 54/100

[Nightkill the Emperor]

The Halloween contest finally gets graded in time for Christmas.