Discretion Advised: This short story contains depictions that may be disturbing to some readers. It may not be appropriate for readers under 18 years. | Horror | Thriller | It was her first day of rest in weeks. The first day she had no obligations, no engagements, and the only thing demanding her attention was her one hundred-pound Supermutt, Artos. He was sniffing his way through the yard now, investigating every scent trail that piqued his interest while she smoked the day's first cigarette. The air was cool and damp under a grey sky, a mist lingered from the passing storm. She lived for days like this. For the scent of the trees, and for the rejuvenated curiosity of Artos as he sloshed around the wet grass. A sense of contentment settled around her. She whistled and Artos trotted through the open door, he sat to the side waiting to be dried off—that was his favourite part—while she finished her cigarette just outside of the door.
She stepped inside and reached for the towel draped over the shoe rack by the door, but Artos didn’t hop as he typically would. Instead, he stayed still, his watchful eyes focused on the open door. She looked over her shoulder, fresh rain overfilled the gutters and cascaded over the awning. “It’s okay, bubba, it’s just the rain.” She took a playful step in his direction, and he sidestepped, his trained eyes never losing focus. Thinking distant thunder may be to blame, she reached to close the door, but something stopped it before it could latch. Her hands pressed against the resistance and the door burst open, jamming her shoulder and upsetting her balance. A sinister male figure filled the doorway, Artos lunged forward as the man forced his way into the room.
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Horror EroticaPeople have their ghost stories, and most who listen do not necessarily believe their tales. Not really. It’s like, the human brain can’t fully open up to the idea that something beyond their own perception of reality could possibly exist. Sure, they entertain the storyteller — they placate those they perceive as mad as a box of frogs, out of pity if nothing else. It’s all the same. You’re not likely to believe it if you’ve not experienced it for yourself, and maybe not even then.
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Sheena MonsterThey/Them/Theirs 
Naming the things that society works hardest to ignore, to reclaim the humanity stripped by systemic deception.
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