It’s Just A Number…

Not!

It’s not just a number! Sometimes it may seem like it, but when I take a few steps back and imagine 1,600 people in a room… man, it has to be one big room!

Once again, I just wanna thank you guys for your support and readership. This would be my 16th time thanking everyone and it would not be my last. I hope to be able to write a thank you post 100 times, so heads up to all of you!

Anyways, I really appreciate your support and encouragement. I treasure all your comments and feedback, and I’m always excited to hear from you guys. Thank you so much for being present, even though I can’t see you the internet sends good vibes

I won’t say much for this post, but I’ll just give a quick update. I’ve moved to a new job where I write a Hello Kitty kids magazine. Don’t laugh.. cause all my friends did. I guess no one saw me doing something like this, but it’s a pretty interesting job

Also, I realize I have been posting short stories instead of Miss Fiction’s Collection on this blog. That’s because I have nothing to write for that, and my short stories are getting more feedback than usual. Hence, I might just keep posting short stories… as some of you voted for it anyways.

Well… that’s it! I really hope to read more of your comments soon It always makes my day!

 

The Bloody Book

It was a bloody book, bound in human flesh. No one was suppose to find it, because in it were the names of his victims scrawled in crooked black ink. But on one unfortunate night, his book slipped from under his cloak and landed on the damp grass of someone’s lawn. He didn’t notice it missing until he arrived home, and by then he could not do anything. Morning was arriving and he would just have to wait for the book to return to him. It always did.

…

Giselle had just returned from a school trip; one her school organized to make up for a prom-less year due to the lack of funds. She did not complain like the rest, because she did not care much about prom. She was busy sending in her applications to the universities of her choice and studying for her final exams, and she had no time for such trivial events.

As she was heading up to her front porch that afternoon, she noticed a book wrapped in brown cloth lying on the grass. Naturally, she picked it up. But before she could check what book it was, her younger brother ran from the house and gave her a hug.

Giselle and Sam were rather close. They once had another sister, but she died when she was eight. The police said it was an accident, and even though they believed otherwise they could not prove it. Carla was a smart girl, even at the age of eight. She was the responsible little girl that scolded Sam for climbing on things, so how could she have died falling from her bedroom window? The thought of an intruder was frightening, but there was no proof of that either.

After Sam was done hugging Giselle, claiming he had missed her, she went to her room and started to unpack. Sam helped a little before he left for a cartoon show on TV. When Giselle had finally cleared everything up, she went straight to the cloth wrapped book.

When Giselle removed enough cloth to see what she was holding in her hands, she dropped it. After staring at it  for a long time, Giselle convinced herself that the cover was made out of un-cleaned animal skin and the pages had been soaked in red paint. That was the only logical explanation to the hideous book on her bedroom floor.

Picking it up she was tempted to throw the book away, but her curiosity got the best of her and she found herself flipping through the pages. The first few pages were written in such horrid handwriting that it was impossible to read, but the next few were much better.

‘She was a pretty thing. Big blue eyes and long brown hair. I married her when we were 17. Two years later, she  gave birth to my son and we were happy. I was happy.

I was happy and it made him angry. He whispered horrible things in my ear and I couldn’t shut him up.

That night… I took a kitchen knife and silenced my crying son. The next morning, my wife woke me up to the dead baby in the bloody crib. She wanted to call the police but I told her she couldn’t because I killed him. She called me crazy, and that was the last word she ever said.

My blade had taken Miranda and little Gary to this bloody page.’

After reading that page, Giselle immediately put the book down. There were so many pages filled with that same handwriting and she did not want to read it anymore. She found her hands shaking as she reached for the phone, but before she dialled 911, she wondered if the book was merely a prank. Could it be? Her thumb hovered unsteadily over the number 9, and when she finally decided to make the call, the front door slammed shut and she jumped to her feet.

“Sam!” Giselle immediately called.

She could feel fear creeping up her spine and the hair on her back was slowly rising. “Sam!” Giselle yelled.

“What?” Sam came running into her room casually.

“Did you hear the door?”

“Mum and dad are home,” Sam merely replied.

At that moment, Giselle felt stupid. All she could do was give her brother a weak smile as he looked at her worriedly.

That night, Giselle could not swallow anything that was on her dinner plate. She had been chewing on a piece of steak for so long, that it was now dry and tasteless in her mouth. Her parents were busy talking about getting a new car that they did not even notice Sam slipping away and returning to the TV. After she was tired of attempting to fill her growling stomach, she excused herself and returned to her room.

There, she reached for the phone once again, but she hesitated longer this time. Maybe it was prank, she thought. Wanting to prove herself right, she took the book from under the bed, where she previously hid it, and flipped through the pages.

Randomly stopping at one page, she read silently.

‘He had black hair and dark skin. He was my colleague, a good friend, and my bowling buddy. That night, we won our first bowling competition against our rival company, and we were happy. I was happy.

I was happy and it made him angry. He whispered horrible things in my ear and I couldn’t shut him up.

That night, I went over to his house to celebrate our winning. And when he had drank too much, I took my shiny blue bowling ball and shut him up. I did not stay after it happened, and I left town.

My blue bowling ball had taken Brad to this bloody page.’

That night, Giselle couldn’t sleep. She found herself clutching the phone, tempted to call the police. At the same time, she convinced herself to speak to her parents first. They would know what to do, right?

When the next morning came, Giselle did not recall falling asleep. Her mum woke her up rather violently as the alarm had been going off for 30 minutes. When she finally reached school, she was too tired to think about anything… even the book.

After school, she hurried home hoping to catch her parents before they left for the day. Her dad ran his own metal factory and he went to work at random hours, her mum was a housewife and a freelance landscaper, she usually disappeared after lunch to pick Sam up from school.

That noon, Giselle returned home a little too late as both her parents’ cars were gone. Sighing to herself, she headed up to her room and reached for the phone. She thought of calling her parents… and the police came to mind. But as that thought came and left, Giselle had the strangest urge to pick up that bloody book and read another page.

Not really knowing what she was doing, Giselle felt herself going for the book and diving straight into its contents. This time, she did not stop at one story but she went on. She kept reading till the clock by her bedside ticked 8 o’clock, and only then she wondered why her mum had not called her down for dinner. Heck, it was 2 hours past dinner time!

Thinking if she should go down stairs and check, Giselle decided to read one more page before she did.

‘She had bright brown eyes and curly long hair. She was a pretty and clever girl… and she was only eight. I liked her a lot, she was not my favourite but I liked her. We went to the park one evening and she made me laugh. She said the cleverest things and it made me happy.

I was happy that evening, and it made him angry. He whispered horrible things in my ears and I couldn’t shut him up.

That night, I woke her up from her sleep. She asked me what was going on and I said I wanted to play a game. I brought her to her window and told her to sit on the ledge. I promised her I wouldn’t let her go, but I did. I went back to bed after that.

My promise had taken Carla to this bloody page. My dear darling Carla.’

It had returned once again, that same fear she felt the night before. This time, it was far worse and almost paralyzing  Giselle couldn’t move or think; she could not even control her breathing as she felt her heart racing madly in her chest.

Carla was indeed murdered… murdered by someone they knew. Someone close. When Giselle had finally managed to snap out of her frozen state, she reached for the phone on her bed. That was when her room door opened and standing at the door was the person she least expected.

“What are you doing in your room, Giselle? Is everything o.k?” Her father asked, as the darkness in the hallway hid half of his face.

Why was her father checking up on her?

He never checks up on her.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Someone I know (same person who drew the background of the above banner) made a catchy creepy statement on Facebook, painting an image of a bloody book bound in human flesh. Immediately, I knew that book would make a good story. So… after a good response from Bobby, I decided to write another horror story.

I hope you guys liked this one too! Do let me know what you think!

© 2013 Jeyna Grace

 

FHB: Chapter 2

As he gave his mother a peck on the cheek and his father an awkward handshake, Lucius couldn’t have felt more relieved that he was going to board the train soon. The days before his departure was filled with frequent breath catching and heart pumping moments as Lucius tried to avoid his father at all cost. He knew that if his father caught him alone, he would have to tell him his decision… and it was one decision that his father would have hated enough not to speak to him again.

Lucius never wanted to be a disappointment to either of his parents, but he knew that some of the choices he had to make would inevitably disappoint one of them. This thought had created uneasiness in his chest and when the Hogwart’s Express blew its last call, Lucius quickly said his goodbyes and hurried off.

Once he had entered the narrow walkway of the train, Lucius headed straight to the prefects cabin. He did not have to walk far while pulling his luggage as a group of Slytherins immediately came to his side when they saw him. One took his luggage from him and another pulled on a smug looking face as he shouted for students to make way.

Lucius merely smirked at all the attention he was getting. It was no stranger to him and he found the familiarity rather comforting. Everything seemed to be falling into place and the uneasiness in his chest soon disappeared.

Upon reaching the prefects cabin, the Slytherins said courteous goodbyes and gave offers of assistance. Lucius merely waved them off and left them standing outside the sliding door as he entered.

You would think that only younger Slytherins would take on house elf duty around Lucius, but that was not true. The Malfoys were so well known in the ministry that most pure-blood families, who were dying for some status, would make their children suck up to Lucius.

From the first day he boarded that train… till his last, Lucius would never have to lift a finger. That day was no exception as older Slytherin prefects came to greet and congratulate him. Being that Lucius never really said much, as he found himself thinking more that he should, he just gave the warm welcome a smile.

“We have saved a place for you, Lucius,” a tall blond girl said.

“No one would bother you there,” another female prefect added.

Lucius nodded as they led him to the back of the cabin, where it was quieter and far away from the other houses’ prefects’ eyes. They seem to envy his status, and yet Lucius found it funny how some of them would actually try to talk to him when he was alone. Sure, they stayed away when he was surrounded with his house mates, but they were never far when he was alone.

When Lucius finally settled down, the other Slytherin prefects weren’t sure if they should join him.

“Not tired standing, are you?” Lucius merely asked.

A few of them gave nervous chuckles before they took a seat across from him. None sat next to him and when the train started moving, those who were still contemplating decided to sit somewhere else.

It was an awkward few minutes for the other prefects as the train started to exit the station. But Lucius was pretty fine with the silence as he began his own internal conversation. Those usually revolved around how he could get favours from professors and his studying schedule for the year, after all, he had O.W.Ls that year.

Just as he was finally mentally laying down his plans for the year, he heard someone walk up to his section of the cabin.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” a tanned skinned girl asked politely.

Her brown eyes went from one Slytherin prefect to another before it finally stopped at Lucius.

“It’s taken,” a Slytherin prefect immediately answered.

“But no one is sitting here, or are they invisible?” the girl joked.

There was no laughter as everyone in that section merely looked at her, some with narrowed glares.

After a few minutes of silence, which the girl did not seem to mind, Lucius asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Tanya, Tanya Lovegood,” Tanya answered with a smile.

“Haven’t seen you around before,” a Slytherin prefect pointed out.

“I’m new. Just transferred.” The cheery tone in her voice never died down.

“She’s related to that psycho second year… Lovegood,” one of the Slytherin prefects said to the other.

“Who?” that prefect responded with a question.

“That boy people call Xeno. Not right in the head I tell you, talks to himself all the time,” the prefect replied, not at all concerned of offending Tanya.

“He’s my second cousin. I’ve only met him once. He’s a nice boy,” Tanya said to Lucius.

Just then, an odd thought crossed his mind. Lucius noticed that all the other seats were already occupied, and this girl desperately needed a seat even though she had a weird way of showing it.

Lucius wondered if he should just let her join them, or would it be more fun to just let her stand there.

To Be Continued…

(Leave a comment below or vote on whether Lucius should make the offer!)

 

Bobby

In my final semester as a Psychology student, I was required to do a three month internship. It was to my joy and dismay that I was placed in a nut house. Unfortunately, I was the only one. The good news was that I had a chance to deal and handle with patients with serious mental disorders. Being that I was fond of the human mind, I saw it as an opportunity. However, on the day I was told that I would be sent to the asylum, my friend warned me.

“Don’t get possessed,” she said.

She believed that some mental illnesses were the cause of demon possession. Whether I believed her or not, I’m pretty open minded, and if ever it was proven that the supernatural realm had something to do with mental illnesses, I would gladly accept it.

“Don’t worry,” was all I could say at the end of the conversation.

A couple of weeks later, I found myself in the hallways of the asylum. I expected it to be grey and dull, and to have flickering lights that forced visitors into a foreboding state, but I was wrong. It was clean, bright and well decorated. Fresh flowers with curtains drawn back were practiced in every room, reminding me of an old folks home. Often times, I wondered if I came to the right place.

Work at the asylum proved useful to my course of study. Every conversation I had with the patients weren’t all crazy talk, and some of them actually understood what was going on. One day, while saying goodbye to a young girl who was ready to go back to a normal life, I overheard a couple talking about their son and how he needed help.

“He starts chanting at night,” the woman said.

“He wouldn’t go back to bed no matter what I tell him, and he would be so exhausted in the morning,” the man added.

“I see,” my supervisor said, as he nodded his head.

“You have to help our son. Something is not right with him,” the woman pleaded.

“We will send someone to evaluate your son’s condition for a few days, and if we see that he needs help, we will give it to him,” my supervisor said, before asking them to fill out a form.

Once the couple had left, my supervisor turned to me. He must have noticed me listening in on the conversation.

“You think you’re up for it?”

“Huh?” I simply replied.

“You think you can evaluate the boy, and see if he needs help?”

“Erm… maybe?” I answered un-confidently.

“This would be a good experience you know. Plus, it would look good on your internship report,” he said.

“O.k then,” I replied. It didn’t sound like a hard task after all.

A week later, I paid my first visit to the couple and their son. They lived in a small town outside of the city. Their house had a huge yard of freshly mowed grass, and behind it was the woods. A small family in a small town, what was I expecting?

The first visit went on pretty well, and the boy did no chanting. His parents insisted he would only do it at night, but from what I saw, they probably thought his intelligence was a mental illness.

Bobby, their 10 year old son, had a brain like a super computer. As I watched him do his math homework, he threw up all the answers as though he was merely copying them from an answer sheet. A genius he was; that was the conclusion I made on the first visit.

During my second visit, I got to know Bobby a little better, maybe more than I expected. I had paperwork to finish up at the asylum and I ended up getting caught in the jam on the way to his house. The moment I reached for my evaluation, it was already 8p.m.

“Sorry for being late,” I apologized. “I could come back tomorrow.”

“No, it is alright. You only need a couple of hours right? He goes to bed at ten these days,” Bobby’s father said.

Thanking him, I headed up to Bobby’s room immediately. That night, I caught him drawing on his bed. And when he saw me enter, he attempted to hide his drawings.

“What’s wrong Bobby? You can show them to me, I won’t laugh, I promise,” I said.

Bobby hesitated for a while before pulling out his drawings from under the blanket.

Bobby couldn’t draw alright. He was good in math, but he was horrible at art. The first picture I saw was of a man, standing among tall trees. He was in all black, and his arms were extremely long.

Slenderman much? I asked myself.

“He’s in the woods,” Bobby said. Then he handed me another picture, and this time, Mr. Slender was standing in front of a house.

“Is this your house Bobby?” I asked.

Bobby nodded. He handed me another picture, and Mr. Slender was now at a window of the house.

“Whose room is this?” I asked.

“Mine,” Bobby replied. He turned to look at the window, and he never took his eyes of it, even after I asked him more questions.

Just when I was about to turn Bobby to face me, his father entered the room.

“I’m sorry Amy, but you need to leave,” his father quickly said.

“Why, what’s the matter?”

“My mother-in-law just had a heart attack, and we need to go.” Turning to Bobby, he said, “Get changed Bobby, we need to go to the hospital.”

“There’s no need. I can look after him while you’re gone,” I quickly suggested. Immediately after, I wish I didn’t have. What was I thinking? Alone, in the house with a boy, who I think, might just be crazy after all.

“Really? I won’t be gone long. I’ll just drop my wife off so I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said.

Too late to say ‘no’ now, I thought.

“No problem. Bobby and I could have a longer talk,” I said.

A few minutes later, they were gone. Bobby and I watched them drive off and returned to his bedroom where he immediately said he wanted to sleep.

“You sure? Your parents are not around, so you could stay up later and watch TV?” That wasn’t a good thing to teach him, but I wanted to continue our conversation on the Slenderman.

“No. I’m sleepy. I should sleep. I have school tomorrow,” Bobby replied. After failing to convince him further, I tugged him in and headed down to watch some reality game show on TV.

After the game show and a talk show ended, I was starting to wonder when Bobby’s father would be home. It was almost 12 and I needed to get home. As I headed to the kitchen to make a call, I heard a loud crash coming from upstairs.

“Bobby?!” I shouted. Quickly, I ran upstairs and into Bobby’s room, and there I found him sitting in a corner. He was hugging his legs and swaying back and forth.

“Bobby? What’s the matter?” I asked. Bobby did not reply. He seemed to be mumbling something softly and I decided to try and shake him out of it.

Once I was close enough, I heard him chant, “He is in the woods. He is in the yard. He is in the house. He is up the stairs. He is in the room.”

This kid IS crazy, I immediately thought.

Trying to snap him out of it, I headed to the window which overlooked the back yard.

“Bobby, there is no one in the yard,” I said. But when I turned to look out the window, I froze.

Standing in the yard was a man. He was definitely not the Slenderman because he was in the right proportion, but Bobby was right; HE was in the yard.

Taking my eyes off briefly, the man vanished after that.

Bobby stopped chanting once I lost sight of the man, and moments later, he started again. This time, he said, “He is in the house. He is up the stairs. He is in the room.”

“He’s not in the house,” I said. Recalling shortly after that I previously said he was not in the yard too.

But he isn’t in the house, the doors were locked, and I didn’t hear anyone coming in, I told myself.

I was proven wrong immediately when I heard the staircase creak. Quickly, I ran and shut the bedroom door. I locked it and headed to the window, trying to pry it open. My failed attempts pointed out the fact that the windows were nailed shut.

Before I knew it, there was a pounding on the door. I screamed questions at the unknown intruder and I screamed at Bobby, who kept on going with ‘he is in the room’. What happened after, I could not fully remember. All I can recall was a bright flash followed by a car accident; a memory of something I swear did not happen in real life.

Now, all I see is him. The man that was hit by the car. He is in the woods. He is in the yard. He is in the house. He is up the stairs. He is in the room. He is in my head.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

When I was a kid, I remember watching the Twilight Zone. There was a story of a boy who was chanting those exact lines and, if I’m not mistaken, his mother actually hit a man on the road. Upon impact, the man crashed into the car windscreen right in front of the boy, imprinting the image on his young mind. That was how the actual story was, IF I’m not mistaken. As a kid, the idea of a creepy dead person stalking another kid was disturbing, I guess that is why I never forgot the story.

So, this is my remake. I hope you like it Let me know what you think!

© 2013 Jeyna Grace

 

The 1500 Convention

Happy Weekend Everyone!

So… I’m having a gathering for all of you, my 1, 500 subscribers! Yup, I think it’s about time we meet up. How?

I’ll throw a convention! Well… that’s not really possible and I would if I could, but I thought about setting up a chat room or a Google hangout where I can just talk to you guys. The only problem is… the time zone.

This is just a really random idea, but I thought it would be fun for me to meet some of you, especially those who have been around from the very beginning and have seen me grow in my writing. On top of that, I might also do a book giveaway (most probably my 2nd novel) to a lucky few during the chat

So, let me know what you think of this idea in the comments below!

Anyway, I just wanna thank all of you once again for subscribing to my blog. I feel like I’m slowly getting closer to my dreams as more people subscribe to me. It’s a wonderful feeling and a feeling I would not have if not for all of you! So thank you Your readership means a lot to me.

I hope you guys are excited about the new HP fan fiction, and I think I should get the ball rolling next week with Miss Fiction’s Collection (though I don’t have a good story yet – if you have one, share it with me!).

Well, that is all for this short thank you post Have a fantastic weekend!

 

FHB: Chapter 1

Family, honour and blood, those were the three words in his upbringing. There was an absence of compassion, acceptance and even trust when it came to his bloodline. Maybe it was a good thing, but he wouldn’t truly know would he?

Being the only child, he felt the pressure to make his parents proud.  He had no one to compete with but no one to confide in either. Nothing else but “Yes father” and “Yes mother” escaped his lips daily, and he saw no problem with that.

Proudly, his parents would often call him an ideal child; this would send his relatives glowering in jealousy as they would whisper their wishes of having him as their own. That always made him smirk, and it kept him on his best behaviour .

When he started school, he knew he would not just be some ordinary boy. He would be well known, respected and hopefully, feared. Desire for power was somehow genetic, and he was no different than his father and those before him.

The first four years in school was perfect. He had everything he needed without having to lift a finger. It probably had something to do with the way he carried himself; arrogant, yes, but brilliant too. He thought he could keep this up, and when he got his yearly Hogwarts return letter, he was certain he could.

That prefect badge that he pinned onto his robes  gave him confidence in finishing the next 3 years of school on top of his game. But he was wrong. Little did he know that on his fifth year, he would be forced to face decisions that would question his upbringing and his belief.

In that same year, the Dark Lord and his quest for purity was slowly making its way into the muggle world. There were forces on both sides, constantly battling for their own rights. One did not need to doubt where the Malfoys’ alliance laid. And though it was not questionable,  there was no proof that Abraxas, a respected man in the ministry, would side with the person most people feared. Lucius however, knew very well where his father… and mother stood.

His father was more loyal than a dog, and his mother hated it. His mother supported the cause but refused to let Lucius participate. Lucius was torn between his parents as his father justified that blood and honour was the most important value. His mother would then recite those three words and emphasize that family came first. At the end of the day, who could he side?

Yes, Lucius admired and deeply feared the Dark Lord. He wanted to be part of the cause too. But was he too young? The day before his parents accompanied him to the Hogwarts Express, his father entered his room just as he locked up his trunk.

In his father’s hand was an old envelope. Gesturing to take a sit, Lucius did not have to ask as his father went straight to the reason of his bedroom visit.

“I want to tell you something very important,” his father said, as he pulled out the contents of the envelope.

It was a stack of faded pictures of when his father was still schooling. His father handed the stack to Lucius and said, “These were taken back in the days when I first joined the Dark Lord. I have always been loyal to him. Do you know what loyalty is, son?”

Lucius nodded his head, but his father still gave him his own definition, “Loyalty is obedience without question.”

Pointing at the picture on top of the stack in Lucius’ hand, his father added, “That was taken at a Christmas ball. The Dark Lord went with… a friend. A friend whose loyalty was distorted.”

Looking down at the picture, Lucius saw a girl next to the Dark Lord, with Professor Slughorn standing across them.

“I have not seen her before,” Lucius said, as he had a pretty good memory of the visitors that came to their mansion when the Dark Lord held random meetings.

“She’s dead. Died too young as a matter of fact.”

“How?”

“Like I said, she had a distorted concept of loyalty. One that had no sense of obedience, and it cost her life.”

Lucius nodded. That was all he could do as he had no words to respond to his father.

“I want you to think about this. Think about loyalty and think about where your stand. You must know that your mother is more fearful than naive and her lack of courage is not a path you would want to follow.” Pausing, his father took the pictures from his hand. “I would suggest you make up your mind before the school term starts. Why? Because you are old enough to decide.”

When his father left his room, Lucius was more confuse than before. But he resolved in his heart to decide on his stand… before the school term starts.

To Be Continued…

(Leave a comment below or vote on whose side Lucius should take. It will determine how he lives the next few years in Hogwarts!)

 

Family, Honour & Blood : A Fan Fiction

Carrying on with my previous trend, this is another Harry Potter Fan Fiction with a vote as you go concept. After a few months break at the end of Joanna Chen, I believe it is about time I start another.

This story is set in 1969; Lucius Malfoy’s 5th year in Hogwarts. It will be a journey of questions and soul searching as Lucius makes life altering decisions. This is my imagination of how Lucius Malfoy became the man we all read about in the books, and it is written as close to the facts found on harrypotter.wikia.com

Do note that the characters portrayed are to my perception.

A short chapter will be published every fortnight, on Thursdays. And you’ll get to participate with the polls after every post

So If you find this fan fiction novel interesting, please share and subscribe!

Note: This is a fan fiction. Nothing more, nothing less.

(You can find all the chapters to the Family, Honour & Blood fan fiction here.)