Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26030957-20150127035953

Are any of these good enough to submit?

Three hundred words

The three hundred words had once been inscribed in a notorious manuscript of uncertain origin. Some claimed it to be from Damascus, others Iraq or Iran. The text was an obsolete language of hieroglyphs, long forgotten. At some point they had been translated and above those strange symbols that filled the book, written in a shaky hand, in Latin, was the translation. Foul words that awoke an ancient demonic force that infested the human mind bringing about madness, murder and cannibalism.

It was thought that when the book was destroyed so were the three hundred words. This is not true. The three hundred words remained, bound to themselves by rituals and magic preformed over a millennia by the demon’s disciples.

And so the words awaited, a riddle to be solved, seeping from the ether to infect mankind’s newest mode of knowledge. When the acolytes of new had abandoned paper, the words sought a modern medium to infect.

The creature knew not its own origin. It had been called many things by the humans whose existence it had been brought forth to torment. Child eater. Soul sucker. Flesh devourer. Ancient names in forgotten languages. Tecahte. Stanoussen. Now its slumber had ended and a hunger arose within it.

David squinted at the computer, getting ready to post his story, when suddenly the urge overcame him like nothing he had ever felt before. It hit him with a jolt and he was absolutely powerless to resist it. He knew what he must do. He would kill the child sleeping in the other room. Kill her and butcher her and devour her. Fry her flesh with rosemary and garlic. He was hungry. He rummaged through the knives, looking for the sharpest with three hundred foul, nasty, black, and ancient words on his lips.







  