Cousin Samuel's Scary Stories

NOTE: This was inspired by a book I read as a kid called Uncle Montague’s Tales of Terror. It’s meant to be a scary read but for a young-ish audience. Hope you enjoy!

Prologue

Timmy did not like coming to these things.  Family outings had always bored him and most of his cousins really sucked to be around. There was one neat thing though. His cousin Samuel was trying to be a horror writer and would always read them stories. Most didn’t scare Timmy, he was a big kid after all, but seeing the scared looks on the other cousins was always entertaining, and Samuel was so good at monster stories. 

It didn’t take long for Samuel to pull out that large, black notebook of his, that he wrote everything in. As soon as he did, all of the kids would gather around him, his own little audience of dozens of kids (there were so many in the family) just eager to hear what he had come up with this time. 

Samuel pulled up a chair, which he hung off of precariously, dangling his feet down and cleared his throat. 

“Ahem. Where to start.”

The Cow

“Oh, yes. Margaret is a good one.” He said. Coughing again, he began to read.

Everyday Margaret had to get up early and help her mother take care of the chickens and family cow, then she would get ready for school, brushing her hair and putting on her school dress. After walking the mile to school, she’d sit through lectures about math and history, and stare out the window at the play field outside. She hated school. Didn’t see why she had to learn, she thought she knew everything she would ever need to.

In the winters, the woods she walked through to get to school would freeze. Piles of snow covered the forest, and more drifted down every minute.

“Why do I have to go to school, mom!?” She shouted. “I hate it there, and look at all of that snow! I can just stay here and help you!”

“You will go to school and that’s final!” Her mother shouted in reply, before huffing and turning away to finish her work. Margaret was unsatisfied with her answer, but decided to obey anyway. Another boring day of books, chalkboard screeches and cold lunches. Once she got back home and was lying in bed, she had an idea.  

“If I run away, I can do whatever I want! I won’t have to go to school anymore!.” She thought excitedly. That night she slept and dreamt of everything she would do when she got away. 

The next day, she got her stuff together and hid it under a tree. She planned on going to school that day to give her more time, but she wouldn’t go home. She sat through school, anxious and excited to adventure through the woods and start her life. Hours later, she skipped through the woods, on her way to the willow tree where she stashed her belongings. 

Only, she couldn’t find it. She looked and looked but couldn’t, for the life of her, find the willow tree. “If I find the house..” She thought. “I can retrace my steps and find it that way!” So she tried to find her parents' house. For what felt like hours she searched and searched until she finally gave up sobbing, lying next to a frozen pond. It was late, and getting cold. Snow was just starting to fall, mirroring the gentle descent of the sun.

“What’s wrong, child?” A voice in the woods asked, startling her from her tears.

“Who’s there?!” She shouted in return.

“You don’t recognize my voice?” The voice echoed back.

“N-no?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll recognize me.” The voice said.

There was a pause, before a hoof stepped out from behind the tree in front of Margaret. Thick muscle and broad shoulders bristled as the pale cow emerged from behind the tree. Margaret felt momentary relief, recognizing her families’ cow, that gave them fresh milk each morning. The relief faded when the cow finished rounding the tree. 

Where the cow’s head should be was a precise cross section of bones, sinew, flesh and blood. Gore and vicera oozed down and dripped onto the snow, melting it and causing wisps of steam to rise with each drip. An impossibly delicate slice of flesh is all that holds the cow's head. Lifelessly dragging it in the snow leaving a trail of vile crimson slicked behind.

“What are you doing out here, Margaret?” The cow boomed, its cut esophagus wiggling with each syllable. She screamed, louder than she ever had before.  Cold pebbles bit into her bare hands as she fell back, crawling away while never turning from the decapitated cow.  There was a new noise. A crack from below her and suddenly she was gone beneath the frozen depths of the pond.

The Potoo Clock

Looking up, for the first time, Samuel surveyed the room. Each and every face looked shocked at what they had heard, but not enough of them looked truly scared for Samuel’s liking. 

“Ok, how about another?” He said, before starting again.

Annie’s family had just moved into a new house. It had been hard to move such a long distance but she found that fact difficult to think about as soon as she walked through the door. Sitting just above the fireplace was a peculiar clock. It resembled an odd bird, Long thin beak almost hidden in its chest if not for a small out cropping pointing at her. What struck her as most odd was its massive bright yellow eyes, interrupted by a thick inky black dot. It looked funny to her, almost hilarious actually, but she found that she had a hard time laughing at it. 

Finding her mom, she asked about the clock. 

“Oh yes, honey, that came with the house. The previous owners had to leave in a hurry and left it there. It's kinda funny looking isn’t it? I can’t decide if we should keep it or not.”  Annie wondered about the clock all day while she unpacked and found that it was still on her mind as she tried to sleep. 

Rolling over, she tried to cover her head with her pillow, desperate for sleep. Suddenly there was a noise. It was… odd. A high pitch whine that seemed to echo back against itself, growing more quiet with each chime. Annie wouldn’t have thought much of it, but it sounded close. Getting up, she walked out of her room and explored the house. She half expected to find her mother watching the nature channel, but there was no one there. Just as Annie was about to give up, the strange call sounded again, this time just behind her. Slowly she turned around to find the clock staring at her with a new found life. 

“Uhhh.”

“And what sort of greeting is that?” Asked the clock, eyes wide, beak held slightly agape.

“ What are you?” Annie sputtered in return.

“I fail to see how that is much better. Oh well, I can understand your surprise. I am a Potoo clock.” It said, grinning cheerfully.  “ Would you like to play a game?” It asked. 

Annie stared at it for a few seconds, trying to gain a grip on the situation. A clock was not only speaking to her, it was now offering to play games with her. Befuddled, she responded;

“What kind of game?” 

“Hmm. I’m usually partial to hide and go-seek.” It was then that Annie came to the conclusion that this was all a dream. What else could it be after all? 

“Uh… Sure, let's play.” 

The Potoo Clock echoed out its great shrill of a laugh. “Great! You hide, and I’ll try and find you. I’m an excellent tracker, so do hide well.” The clock face shifted in the dream, turning from a clock to a countdown. Starting at 30, it began to tick.

Annie ran upstairs. This being her first night in the house, she wasn’t sure where the best place to hide was, but she was determined to put as much distance between her and the clock as possible. She made it to her room with seconds to spare. Quickly, she did the best she could and hid under her bed. 

There was a creaking downstairs, then silence. She had imagined that she’d be able to hear the clock moving around, trying to find her, but she found that however it moved, it did so silently. She sat in the darkness under the bed for what felt like an eternity. Her heart raced, just waiting for the moment when the telltale sounds of movement entered the room. Nothing came. Finally, the noise of the Potoo’s laugh sounded once again. She waited a moment and then decided to go figure out what happened.

Returning downstairs, she found the clock on the wall where it was before. “You are truly an amazing hider.” It said with overenthusiastic glee. 

“Really? I didn’t think it was that great, I was just under-”

“No, no!  Don’t tell me where, hide there again next time and maybe I’ll find you then.” It said, once again leaving its wide jaw open, showing Annie nothing but pitch inside. “Well, it’s late now, you’d best be getting to bed.” The clock said. Annie yawned and nodded, not thinking about the implications of that sentiment. Slowly, she climbed the steps again and went back to sleep. 

The next morning, Annie told her mom about the strange dream she had. Her mom laughed at the dream a bit and kissed her head, before saying; “Ok, I need to head to work, get your unpacking done before I get back, ok?” Annie nodded.

The rest of the day, Annie unpacked, explored and  watched T.V. In the late afternoon, she felt strangely tired, and decided to take an early nap. She awoke, once again, to the sound of the Potoo clocks’ strange call. Annie got up slowly, and went downstairs.  

There was a new noise here. She heard it first about halfway down the steps. It was wet and stretchy. Pockets of silence broke up the uncomfortable noises. A few steps further, she noticed the liquid at the bottom of the steps. Rivulets poured across the floor, coming from deep into the living room, and pooled in a dark reflective pool at the foot of the last step. Finally reaching the bottom and stepping over the pool, Annie found the answer to the mystery that had formed around her.

In the center of the living room, the Potoo bird, now free from its clock, sat pecking hunks of flesh from her mother’s neck. Torn bone and sinew alike slid viciously down the bird's massive open gullet. Huge wings wrapped around what had been her parent, claiming their food.

The bird now notices the petrified gaze of the child behind itself. Turning to face her, it utters; “She wasn’t as good at hiding as you are.” Before it throws itself at Annie.

The Dormouse

The reaction was better this time. Still not quite to Samuel’s liking, but there was time to fix that. The adults were still prepping the soup afterall. Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Samuel flipped the page and began reading again.

Stephen spent every night of the last week at the library. He has a final on friday which only gives him three more days to study, and he will need every moment he can get.

“Ughhhhhh.” He says, wiping his red eyes. “I’m so tired.”

“Here.” Gina said, setting down a cup of coffee next to him.

“My savior.” He replied, greedly gulping down the caffeine.

“Shut up.” Gina sits down at the table, across from Stephen. Piles of books sit around them.  

“Is anyone else here?” Stephen asks, closing his book and looking around.

“Other than us and the librarian? No, I didn’t see anyone.”

“I wonder why this place even stays open this late… I mean it's not like it’s busy ever.”

“I don’t know.” Gina said. As if on cue, there was a jingle as someone entered the library.  They couldn’t quite see the door from here, Stephen and Gina were tucked away in a small section in the back of the library, but they did hear the librarian talking with someone. 

“Did you hear that?” Stephen asked nervously.

“Yeah someone came in.” Gina replied curtly, returning to her books. 

“Well, yeah but it’s super late isn’t that weird?” Stephen replied, looking around nervously. 

Gina stared at him for a moment. “You realize us being here this late is weird, right. How am I supposed to know if someone else being here is weird.” From the entryway, the librarian’s conversation with the new person was just wrapping up. Stephen was able to make out only a single word of the conversation.

“...Dormouse…”

Stephen shook his head, realizing that he was being paranoid. Gina was right, why would it be weird for someone else to be here? A few moments later, a man rounded the corner into the row behind the table. Stephen was sitting opposite the row, and could see the outline of the man through the shelves. He was very tall and wearing an old fashioned suit.  He stood still and grabbed book after book off the shelf for long enough that Stephen forgot he was there.

Hours later, Stephen and Gina were just thinking of wrapping their study session. Yawning and looking up from his book, Stephen noticed the man again and jumped a little. 

He was still standing in the same spot. Stephen could just barely see his hands at his sides, and yet books were still coming off of the shelf. In fact, the shelf looked practically barren now, a row that used to have at least 15 books on it was now completely empty. Stephen flicked Gina on her shoulder, trying to get her attention.

“What?” Gina said, rubbing her eyes. Stephen pointed at the shelf behind her. Confused, she turned to look. Her eyes went wide when she saw the man. “I’ll go see if he’s ok…” Gina says. Stephen reached to stop her, but she shrugged off the gesture.  As she rounded the corner of the shelf, she began to speak. “Hello? You’ve been standing there-” She backs up in shock, unsure what she was looking at.

“What is it?” Stephen asked, still wracked with paranoia. He’d never seen Gina scared before and it made him even more frightened. Gina opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by a new voice.

“Soooo kkiinndd oof you ttoo assskkk.” A breathy, ethereal voice struggled out. “Iii’mmm ffffiiinnee. Juusstt trryyiinggg too hhhheeedd thhee doooorrmmmouusse.” Suddenly the man started to move toward Gina. She screamed and ran from the room. Stephen stood up quickly, desperate to understand the situation. The man rounded the corner and everything was suddenly clear.

The man's head is an impossible tunnel. Skin crawls and oozes through the tunnel as facial features round the bend. In his hand, he holds a book. As he walks toward Stephen, the man feeds the book through the tunnel, causing it to splinter like wood and explode into the tunnel sides, shrapnel-ing the distorted flesh of his face with paper and ink.

Epilogue

Samuel was finally pleased with the amount of fear showcased on the faces around him. He did have one final story to seal the deal, however.

“Here is my last story for the night. It’s a short one.”

In the woods there is a family. It's a big family, they have lots of children that all have lots of their own. All of these kids get together once a year for a big get-together to celebrate the family. They spend all day sharing stories, drinking and thinking of the traditional family meal. 

The mother and father of the family spend several days prepping the soup. It is a delicious, deep savory chicken soup. They use fresh chicken stock from the chickens they raise themselves, but they don’t put any meat in it. Not yet anyways. They always want the meat to be fresh and they don’t use chicken, not when there is an abundance of fresh meat all around.

Samuel closed his notebook, just as Timmy’s mom leaned into the doorway. 

“Timmy, we’re ready for you in the kitchen.” She turned to the rest of the kids. “Supper’ll be ready soon!”