Separated from his wife and the rest of their hiking group, a husband crawls inside an animal corpse to stay warm during an intense blizzard.
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I don't really see the point of having that purplish-blue colour as any of the headings. It looks better with just the red and the background.
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Support - I think we should adopt the new design, but keep the old colours. The layout is a definite improvement, but the new colours don't work nearly as well with each other, they're too brash. The orange used for the Wiki Authors, PoTM Winners, and Random Story tabs looks terrible in contrast to the yellow text. I highly prefer the subtlety of the darker shade of red that is used now.
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My stories are available to read from my profile, along with a word count and synopsis of each one. Feel free to take a look at them.
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I'd have to get a second opinion on the ending, I think. It was kind of what I had in mind from the very beginning, at the conception of this story, and I feel like it's worse off without it.
And y'know, I wouldn't really describe the 'typical Cornconic story' as dark fantasy/sci-fi. I definitely take inspiration from those genres (and have even used them as the main genres for a couple of my stories) but I like to think that my stories are typically a little more grounded in reality. If I had to pick one common trait for my pastas, it'd be that a lot of them tend to be set in rural environments, and I don't think that's a particular characteristic for either of those genres.
And as for my stories being 'not as deep as my ambition wants to make them'...well, I suppose that's up to the reader to decide. Though that is the first time I have been told that about my works. I'm not trying to make any sort of commentary through my stories, if that's what you're insinuating. Media does that far too much nowadays, anyway.
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Leonard pushed his face firmly into the crease of his elbow as another scathing blast of frigid air blew through the desert. The snow piled up at his feet as he stumbled up a small incline, struggling to keep his balance as the biting cold permeated his winter jacket. Shivering, he turned, baring his back to the icy downpour and staring across the barren fields of white before him. At the very crest of the blizzard, a single tent was cartwheeling across the snow, leaving a trail of tiny dents as each of its jagged ends came into contact with the ground. Leonard prayed no-one had been inside as he watched it disappear from sight, disintegrating into torn scraps of material as it went.
Tracing the tent’s path, he spotted a patch of levelled ground, where a collection of scattered debris was strewn. Hastily, he skittered back down the incline and ran toward it, clutching his hood as it flapped mercilessly in the wind. Two ends of torn wire swayed back and forth at the edge of the area, where a tent had been nailed to the ground. Beside them was a piece of dark fabric, and Leonard’s pulse quickened as he saw it was the torn remains of a winter coat collar. Reluctantly, he kneeled and scooped it into his palm, wiping the blurriness from his eyes with the back of his gloved hand.
‘JEFFRIES’ was scribbled on the frost-smeared label. Leonard rolled the name back and forth through his head as he stared at the familiar handwriting. Jake Jeffries. The one who had convinced him the oncoming blizzard was ‘just a minor weather spike’. The rotten, no-good bastard that had talked him and his wife into joining him on this damned trip.
He tossed the collar aside and with moderate difficulty, pushed himself back into a standing position. The last tent of the half a dozen the trip had begun with flew into the air as he came near it, its orange exterior fading to a solemn grey as it vanished in the haze. Leonard dropped to his knees once more and rummaged through the snow, finding only empty flasks, plastic food packaging, and used waste bags. No flare gun, no emergency supplies, and no sign of any of the other hikers. No sign of…
“RACHEL?” Leonard desperately called out. “RACHEL, CAN YOU HEAR ME?”
He was answered with another intense blast of cold to the face, this time without the shield of his arm to nullify the effect. He coughed and hugged his chest, gritting his teeth to stop them from clattering together. Already, he had lost feeling in his toes. The cold was undoubtedly getting to him, and yet, there was nothing he could do. Dozens of questions raced through his brain as he felt his final moments dawning. Where were all the others? Had they already succumbed to the conditions? Was he the last one left? The thought of his wife of so many years dying cold and alone was almost enough to force a tear from his wind-stabbed eyes.
And then, like a mirage, he saw it. An animal corpse in the snow.
With the last of his energy, Leonard sprinted at the thing. He was both grateful and dumbfounded: grateful that whatever powers that be saw him fit to live another day and dumbfounded that such a creature could have made it so far into oblivion. The nearest wildlife should have been miles away, and yet, here lay some sizeable beast whose basic survival instinct must’ve somehow malfunctioned, leading it all the way to certain doom. From the way its lower half was already covered with snow, Leonard reckoned it must’ve perished fairly recently. As close as it was to the tattered remains of camp, he was sure he would’ve seen it before.
And as for what it was, Leonard didn’t have the slightest clue. He was sure it was just his frozen mind, but as he shuffled to where he assumed its stomach would be, he noticed it didn’t seem to match the characteristics of any animal he knew of. Its skin was dark and furry like a bear’s, but its appendages were thin and elongated, ending in shattered, deformed hooves. Perhaps it wasn’t the cold that lead to this thing’s demise, but rather, some apex predator that had chased it until it could go no further? Regardless, at that moment, its presence meant safety and survival. It was big enough to climb into, and as the storm showed no signs of stopping, that was all that mattered to Leonard.
The ambiguity of the creature remained as he took out a pocketknife and slit open its coarse belly. Warm, slimy innards spilled out, resembling no kind of anatomy he had ever seen before. There was no stomach, intestines, liver, spleen; everything just looked like one big pile of rotten pinkish mush, like melted ice-cream. It stuck to Leonard’s clothes as he shovelled it out onto the snow, distracting him from the cold if only to violate his senses in an equally unpleasant manner. Gore had never much bothered him before, but now, he felt sick to his stomach.
Before long, there was a big enough hole for him to crawl into. It was most likely going to be the foulest, most repugnant thing he had ever done, but it was still more preferable than succumbing to hypothermia. Leonard stood up and gazed out at the desert one last time, re-affirming its emptiness before taking a deep breath and climbing into the carcass.
Jagged ends of bone pressed into the surface of his coat as he made himself as comfortable as possible, tucking his legs into the fetal position. He reached back to the flap of skin he had used as an entrance point and folded it shut, bidding farewell to the whistling wind. The smell was worse than he expected, but the difference in temperature was instantly noticeable. How long he would have to remain inside the corpse he had no idea. He dreaded the thought of sleeping within it, cringing at the idea of rot and decay seeping its way into the body as he tossed and turned in slumber.
A little bit of time passed. Leonard kept his ears sharply tuned to the sound of the storm, which was showing no signs of diminishing. The thought of a warm shower with Rachel helped him keep his composure, even as he repositioned himself for the fourth or fifth time.
Without warning, a revolting churn erupted from behind his head, followed by a sharp rippling sound like tape peeling from a wall. Goosebumps trickled down Leonard’s back as he turned to see what had caused the noise.
At first glance, nothing seemed to have changed. Only when he reached out to re-open the flap did he realise that it had sealed itself shut.
He pawed at the inside wall relentlessly, assuring himself that he had merely misplaced where he had made the incision. But no, the mark was there, plain as day, the scar from which he had separated the tissue remained, perfectly reformed. Instantly, the fleshy walls of his meat prison seemed to be closing in on him. The heat growing infinitely more intense, he once again unsheathed his pocketknife, only for it to slide between his slippery gloves and disappear between one of the creature’s organic crevices.
Leonard screamed, writhing and squirming as his body sank into the carcass’ watery fluids. A soaked tendril oozed out from an opening beside his neck, filling his mouth and reaching all the way into the depths of his throat. Several more tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs and rolled him over to face the opposite side of the creature, where a gaping maw stretched open and beckoned him inside with its meaty lips.
Even as he clawed his hands into the creature’s flesh and strained himself against the push of its tendrils, Leonard found himself sliding closer to the maw with each passing second. Hot sweat poured from his brow like a waterfall, vomit rising up his throat only to be forced back into his stomach. Pushed only inches away, he was thrust inside the opening, the tendrils releasing their grip and the maw closing behind him, plunging him into pitch blackness.
Ripping his gloves off, he clawed incessantly at the flesh around him, only managing to scrape off tiny slices of meat with his fingernails. Small strings of a hard, wiry substance grabbed hold of his head, pinning it to the side and burrowing into his skull. Blood spurting down his neck, Leonard felt his body go limp in an instant as the cordons squeezed around his brain, darkness intruding on the edges of his vision. The sound of static filled his ears before everything went silent, his senses switched off in a mere instant.
Horrid, indecipherable screams burst into Leonard’s ears as he slammed back into consciousness.
“Leonard?” He heard one of the voices shout, a little louder than the rest. “Leonard, are you there?”
A piercing agony stuck its claws into his brain as he felt it brush against the brains of many others, electrical impulses burning and carving their way through his mind like streaks of fire. His eyes were glued open, and before him lay the cold, desolate desert, snow still ravaging the ground, the storm just as intense as ever. A shattered, deformed hoof lay limp in the corner of his vision, and it took him but a few seconds to realise the eyes he was staring through weren’t his.
“W-we tried to warn you Leonard…” Another voice spoke. “We t-tried to warn you…”
He attempted moving his body but knew deep down he didn’t have one anymore. There was nothing but constant noise and the frozen, unmoving visage of the piling snow. Picking them out individually would be a near-impossible task, yet Leonard was sure he could hear hundreds upon hundreds of voices of all ages, accents, and nationalities, all fighting to be heard over each other. Their collective attention was diverted by the appearance of a figure in the distance, wandering aimlessly through the storm. The noise grew to an unbearable level, everyone screaming at the person to run, to get away, to seek shelter elsewhere.
But Leonard could only watch as Rachel spotted the carcass and ran toward it, a hopeful smile on her face.
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Foot and Mouth and Bad Behaviour are both stories of mine between 800 and 1000 words. Feel free to narrate them.
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You are perfectly welcome to narrate any of my stories. You can find them by clicking/tapping on my username and going to my profile.
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This would only really work in its current form as a trollpasta, which aren't allowed on the site. I think if you re-wrote it, removing the comedic part and expanding more on the horror aspect, it could definitely have a place here.
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MMonSterR wrote: read the no end house and feed the pig u won't regret reading dem
Please don't comment on five-year-old threads. If you want to continue a discussion that's several years old, create a new thread.
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All of my stories can be found on my profile page. Feel free to give them a read.
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Isthisusernametakento? wrote: Ok before i leave, I'm gunna leave y'all with this I'm adopted. I'm 28 years old and I've never met either of my parents and anyone a fraction related to me. (I know right, boo hoo) I take it, there must be a reason why i kept back from all that. And so I've been contempt with it all these years. And I guess people know this and treat me extra nice I guess. I'm looking for love in the wrong place yall.
You are literally just droning on about incoherent, irrelevant nonsense at this point. Every subsequent reply you write makes me feel more and more like I'm watching a dementia patient slowly lose their grip on reality. There's not a single user involved in this conversation that hasn't given you helpful, informative advice (Jdeschene especially) and each and every time it has just completely flown over your head. Clearly whatever you wish to gain out of this thread (and by extension, on this wiki) you aren't going to find.
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With the way you’ve been behaving, I don’t think it would be much of stretch to imagine that you will, at some point, get banned. Just something to consider.
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You’re looking for empty praise, just like Kolpik said. You said it yourself that all you expect is constant 10/10s without any real criticism. The fact that you get nervous at the keyboard thinking about what people will say about your story shows that you’re only writing to feel good about yourself. To reaffirm that image in your head of “the world’s best creepypasta author”, and whenever that image is challenged, you lash out, then immediately whine and play the victim. That’s why you’re so obsessed with getting everybody to like you. Because you’re selfish and insecure. How painfully ironic that you accuse me of using you to soothe my ego when you engage in such narcissistic behaviour.
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All of my pastas are linked on my profile page, if you’d care to take a look.
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@Isthisusernametakento?
You honestly need to grow up. My point was that if you aren't willing to listen to what people are saying and improve, you shouldn't be writing here. Multiple users have told you making false claims about your stories is an idiotic thing to do, and yet you continue to do it. The fact that you choose to interpret this site as a kind of 'cool kids table' that I'm preventing you from being a part of reflects far more on your personal life than it does on my attitude towards you being here.
Considering there seems to be an ongoing trend of you taking these simple criticisms in such a personal way, I'm fairly confident that even if you are old enough for this site, you aren't mature enough for it (and yes, there is a distinction to be made in that regard). The only advice I have left to give you at this point is to come back in a few years and stop wasting everyone's time.
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Thank you for such an in-depth review. Just a thing or two I would like to point out:
I'm not entirely sure that you actually got the ending, so let me just clarify things. I don't mean to be patronising or anything, I just want to make sure you completely understand.
1.) Fred is known for his late-night walks through the cemetery. The morning after one of these walks, Howard visits the cemetery and describes two important details. The first being that it's overgrown and sort of semi-abandoned, and the second being the presence of flowers on Fred's mother's grave (specifically, poppies and daffodils).
2.) Howard mentions how Fred's house is covered in a mist of Febreze, and that there is another smell being concealed by said Febreze.
3.) This is the important bit: Fred mentions over dinner that his mother wished to have a private spot of land to be buried in, but ended up being buried in the local cemetery because she never put the request in her will.
Are you connecting the dots yet? If not, let me explain further:
4.) When Howard visits St. Anthony again toward the end of the story, he finds Fred's house overgrown with flowers. This is an easy connection to make, of course. Obviously Fred's house was full of dead bodies before the incident actually happened.
But he wasn't murdering/experimenting on people. Fred had nothing to do with the worldwide corpse-plant event thingy. The bodies in Fred's house came from the cemetery. He was digging up the graves one-by-one overnight and stashing the bodies in his house so his mother could have a private place to rest. And when the radon incident happened, he stayed behind and cleared up all the gravestones, leaving the note behind because he knew Howard would come back someday.
As for how the grave grew specifically poppies and daffodils, well...I really just thought that would be poetic. Maybe chalk it up to since those were the flowers Fred left on the grave every night, they had some sort of effect on the soil. I don't know, really. It's kinda weird and coincidental, but I think it makes the story better as a whole.
If there's anything you still don't get/think doesn't make sense in terms of the plot, please let me know.
As for technical issues, you were right in the way that I do tend to struggle with run-on sentences and 'crutch words' as I think you described them as in a recent blog/forum post (I don't remember which one). Your advice in this regard was very helpful, and I'm thankful you pointed out specific errors for so long into the story.
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