The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

When you see something traumatic, you’re supposed to go through some sort of short-term PTSD right? That should be normal and you’re expected to be jumpy and extremely scared to the point where you need a few months to a year of therapy. Perfectly normal. Last week, I saw something disturbing. I had just finished a closing shift at my shitty retail job, leaving a quarter to midnight. After about five minutes on the highway, a big white truck merged in front of me off the ramp from the surrounding residential area. It was one of those square delivery trucks with the big windows on the back doors. Anyway, the truck was lit up from the inside and there were two figures fighting. The sound of the gunshot brought me to a screeching halt. The splatter of what looked like brain matter and blood hit the back window with such force, I swear I heard just when it made contact. The truck kept driving, swerving left and right in what I can only assume was a struggle, before another gunshot rang in

I work for an engineering company in a sales role which keeps me busy all through the week. The office I work in is situated in the heart of an industrial estate amongst various other manufacturing and engineering plants. As you can imagine, the estate is a hive of activity during the day; forklifts and HGVs, industrial machinery buzzing and whirring, people shouting and beckoning etc. Sometimes I look out from our first storey window at all the commotion when my day is less busy. I take in every detail; the men holding clipboards, wearing overalls and shouting instructions; the men in suits demand and agree with whoever is on the other end of their telephone call; the women who leaving as a gaggle for their unauthorised extended lunch break. This continues until 5pm every day. At this point, all the workers descend to the exit and make their way home to their families, spouses or video consoles. Every now and then I am called upon to stay later at the office. This particular time I wa

I stay hidden, out of sight, merging with the shadows, looming in dark corners. She feels my presence, though she denies it for that false sense of comforting security. I watch her. I take care of her. I sit by her bed all night because I know she feels lonely. She looks so beautiful when she’s sleeping. One night, I took a photograph of her when the worry on her face was replaced by calmness and peace. I left it for her to find so she would see herself the way I saw her, so she would see how beautiful she truly was. Uniformed men came and searched the house with guns, so I never did it again. I didn’t want her to find me, not yet. One day we would be together, but I couldn’t let her see me until she was ready. There was a man who came to visit her every Friday and Saturday night. He would put his arm around her and they would laugh together, but sometimes his voice was loud and intimidating. He would leave and slam the door behind him, and she would cry herself to sleep.

I was so excited for this day. Our school was having a picnic, which it really knew how to do. The picnic was going to be in a large forest about forty miles from our school (our school likes to plan far-away trips). Whenever I am going on a vacation or trip, I like to find out every single fact about it. It turns out this forest's history dates back four or five-hundred years. It was inhabited by a Native American tribe who were known for their worship of evil spirits. When the settlers came in, the natives did not take kindly to them. When the diseases brought in by the settlers killed many of the tribe's people, they cursed the forest and the settlers. The next day, the tribe was gone, and all of the settlers were either dead or missing. The one that survived lived for another week before committing suicide. The story goes on to tell of loggers who came in about one-hundred years later, and all died in mysterious accidents and murders. I am not superstitious; I did not belie

Marnie strolled right into the woods and never came back. We waited for her. We could have just left the second she disappeared between the trees but she seemed so damn confident that we waited. Nobody wanted to say it but after two hours we knew that was it. Sure, we felt bad for Marnie but if I could have said one last thing to her it wouldn’t have been ‘stop’. It would have been ‘thanks’. It was her and not me. So if I feel anything for Marnie it’s gratitude, not pity. In the end it was probably always going to be her anyway. She found it. The small stone chapel had just sat there in its little clearing, protected by a ring of trees. Marnie saw it first and crashed through the bushes, calling out to us to follow. How had we never found it before? Perhaps it didn’t want to be found. It was deeper in than we’d ever been, right in the heart of the woods it felt like. The air was cold. More than that, it was dead. Nothing moved or made a sound. I know now that place was neve

    Looking back, I’d say I had a pretty enjoyable childhood, nothing bad ever happened to me. I barely ever got sick, never broke any bones, or got into fights with my cousins when I visited. I was basically a picture perfect child, not to brag. Except, one time when I was visiting my older cousins I experienced the strangest event, and even today, I still can’t tell myself that it was just my imagination.     I was probably about six years old at the time, but I still remember everything about that night like it was yesterday. I was climbing trees with my cousins most of the day, and when it got dark, we went inside. My aunt and uncle went out for dinner so it was just us left in the old house. And then I suggested it, “Let’s play hide and seek!” Sometimes I wonder how it would have been if I hadn’t suggested that.     Either way, it was Alex’s turn to be it first since he lost rock, paper, scissors, and Ray and I scattered to find a hiding place. First, I tried squeezing behind the

I’m a mortician. Scratch that, I WAS a mortician. I quit about a year ago after a very unfortunate encounter. It happened September of last year. We are all reasonable here, I was a practitioner of mortuary science after all. That’s why I was so good at my job. I was able to set aside all of the superstitious nonsense about the dead returning to life or hauntings by spirits not at rest to give people a few final moments with the bodies of their loved ones. Mortician, while not considered by most as a good career path, is an outstandingly stable and important job. The old saying is that there are two things in life that are certain: death and taxes. I knew that to be true and I discovered at a young age that I was dreadful at math so it was the business of death for me. While it’s a stable career it can also become overwhelming. I was located in a small town in the northern United States because where else would be better? Because of low population density and low murder rate it’d be a

“And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.” – Revelations 6:7 I may be insane, but I feel I should write this down while I still have the chance. I’m locked in my apartment, and I’ve barricaded the door, but I know I won’t be safe here. I just have to try to get this crazy goddamn story straight in the time that I have left. Before he comes for me. I need to back up some. I’m Josh. Hi. Three days ago I was a normal person, with a normal apartment and a normal life. I worked a desk job for Golden Image LLC. Stupid name, right? We were a small image consulting firm, specializing in political appearance management. In other words, when a politician fucked something up and fell out of favor he would come to us, and we’d make the public forget how shitty he was at his job. And recently what with the war and these Midwest droughts, business was going great. It was dull work, but it kept the bills paid, so I didn’t complain. Much. And the

There have been few parts of my life that I remember in specific, lifelike detail. I’m not sure of this to be a blessing or a curse, as there are moments of my life I wish to forget completely. The most significant of which was the play. I’m being quite vague when I say, “the” play, as I’ve seen plenty of stage shows in my lifetime. Presentations in the form of movies usually bored me, but there was something about the stage that just made a show different. Live actors (so long as they were good) made the experience much more real to me, and ever since I saw my first stage play as a young boy, I was hooked. I move to the city, and saw shows whenever I could. Some stage plays can be quite expensive, but money was never an issue for something I loved. However, I was especially drawn in when I saw the poster for “The Hearts of the Young”. I had seen the poster for the show on the streets, not too far from the popular stage theater in my city. What attracted many to this performance was th

    I’m having a creepy night and remembered the story my grandma told me when I was 14 years old. My friend told me to share it, so here it is.     All women in my mother’s family have had paranormal experiences, but this one is by far the weirdest and creepiest of all. My grandma claims that it’s true.     Her sister, my great-aunt, whom I never met because she got in an argument with my grandma and moved away before I was born, fell in love in her early twenties. The man she fell for still lived with his mother and since his father died long ago, he was the “man” in the house, took care of everything, earned the money. Therefore, his mother had gotten really attached to him. When she found out her son was just as fond of the girl he had started to go out with as the girl was of him, she was not just upset, she was raging. She told him to break up with her, said “that bitch” wasn’t good enough for him, that he deserved better than her. My grandma and her siblings grew up very poor, b

We didn’t have a lot when I was a little girl. My mother and father married young and had me when they were eighteen. My brother followed eleven months later. Dad went into the Marines right after high school and Mom worked as a receptionist at a massage parlor. We lived with my great grandmother in her home, a small two story house with a yard that seemed huge in comparison to that of our neighbors. Both my brother and I had health problems in our earlier years, so most of the money that mom and Dad made went towards medical bills. My eardrums ruptured when I was a few months old and I had to have tubes put in. There was a good span of time that mom was worried that I was going to end up deaf. She took sign language classes so that if the worst came to pass she would still be able to teach me to communicate. I was constantly suffering from ear infections. I hit two and stopped growing. There were trips to specialists, tests and bloodwork, until I hit four and shot up. Jame

I suppose when I say,  “Noroi Gakkotsu,”  most of you would guess I was talking about some exotic delicacy, or maybe some holiday resort in the far east. You’d be dead wrong. A Noroi Gakkotsu is a very nasty object that has been part of Japanese folklore for centuries, maybe even millennia. Please keep reading! I know that folklore, especially folklore from a completely foreign culture, bores a lot of people to snores. I can assure you, I’m no fan either. But please believe me when I say that it’s essential that you read this and understand what Noroi Gakkotsu are and how they work. As best it can be translated, “Noroi Gakkotsu” means “Devil’s Jaws” in English. According to Japanese tradition, a Noroi Gakkotsu is made of two thin boards of wood, one upon the other, that are bound together on one side with either a strip of leather or length of twine, so that the boards can be opened and closed like a book (or a set of jaws!). A certain spell is then written upon the boards to give