Hallow’s End Writing Contest: Spooky Short Stories, Forlorn Flash Fiction!

[Consumer-argent-dawn]

HellooOoooOo Argent Dawn!

Hallow’s End has returned yet again, the veil between worlds bordering Azeroth stretching thin. Check your cupboard for ghosts, look underneath your bed for ghouls and whatever you do; don’t turn your back to the mirror during these horribly haunting days!

I thought we could all spread the spine-chilling vibes this year by hosting a little short story contest on the Argent Dawn forum. In order to participate you only have to post a scary story below limited to 800 words or less.

The contest will run from today the 24th of October to Tuesday the 31st at 6pm CEST. After which the winners will be declared.
The prizes for this event are:

• 1st prize: 20.000 gold + The spooky Soulscryer staff!
• 2nd prize: 10.000 gold
• 3rd prize: 5000 gold

The three winners will also receive an adorable Weebomination.

The winners will be decided by the amount of likes the story has received at the time the contest closes. Any winners will be mailed their prize on the character they posted with.

The Rules of the Contest

• The short story has to take place in the Warcraft Universe. It need not be the current expansion.
• The story must not be based on game mechanics. Everyone dreads the 1-hour queue before the clock strikes midnight, but that tale is for another time.
• The story must be limited to 800 words. Crossing this threshold voids your liability to any prizes.
• The story cannot contain overly detailed description of violence, gore or explicit content. If you are uncertain whether your description is going too far, consider the Warcraft books as a guideline.
• Stories submitted after the end of the contest will not be liable for a prize.

I shall post my own short story to serve as a guideline. My entry will be exempt from any prizes, but I hope you will find it an enjoyable spooky read none the less.

After all, it was the last I wrote before I went missing all these years agooOOoooOoo!

I will be looking forward to feel the chill travel up my spine reading your stories! Happy Hallow’s End!

My example story:

“I’m not quite convinced these homunculi actually exist,” said Hendelt. The very notion of some golem capable of imitating life in such detail that even the fabled demon hunters would be unable to recognize them sounded more like a fantasy to the simple rogue. He gazed upon Seras, the warmth in her eyes stirring his heart.
“Voss seems to think they’re real enough,” she replied. She stood opposite him within the small room, the flickering light of the lanterns dancing across their features. She dared speak Voss’s name aloud within this hidden place. Else but them none alive knew of it. Hendelt figured that some mage had used it as a secret storage room of sorts, yet whoever built it never had a need for it ever since they stumbled upon it on their first date. His lips formed a smirk as he recalled their first kiss within this cramped space. That was months ago.

“What of that noble the council ordered you to investigate?” asked Hendelt.

“Just another rich, fat bastard. It was nothing but a dead end. I did, however, manage to get my hands on a little gift for you,” answered Seras. As she neared him, the familiar sharp scent of something chemical intruded his nostrils.

“Have you been brewing another batch of potions?” he asked, yet she placed a finger on his mouth, hushing him instead.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Seras whispered in his ear. He could not help himself from sighing contently as her warm breath reflected on his skin, her lips brushing past the side of his neck. He felt a slight twinge of disappointment when she retracted her hand, now holding up a strange coin before him. She always had a flair for the theatric, Henselt thought with a grin.

“What’s this?” he asked, eagerly taking the coin from her. Long had he feared that his hobby of collecting odd coins would deter any potential spouse, but Seras had only ever shown interest. He would do well to treat her to something nice in return. Seras smiled lovingly at him, nodding as if giving him the approval to indulge himself.

“Go ahead then. I think it might be real special.”

With childlike enthusiasm Hendelt turned away from her in order to lift his lantern high, bringing the coin closer into the light. It appeared to be some sort of dingy iron coin.

“It certainly looks rare!” he said, glee within his voice. “I don’t think it is elven, no. Maybe it’s from overseas?”

As he mused aloud, Seras came up behind him, a hand coming to caringly stroke across his back. She moved his cloak aside, her nimble fingers trailing up his spine.

Cold steel cut through his heart, the tip of Seras’s favored dagger now protruding through the front of his vest. The coin slipped from his trembling hands as he reached out to touch the sharp point.

Pain came to him, and then he faded to black.

That night, in the sewer tunnels beneath Dalaran, their friends greeted the two homunculi wearing Seras and Hendelt’s faces, never to know that they would be next in line.

[Fizal-argent-dawn]

As the moon cast an eerie glow upon the village, Chuck observed from the shadows as an enthusiastic local child approached the enchanted pumpkin. The child’s eyes shimmered with determination, and they couldn’t resist the urge to solve the riddle and claim their wish!

Chuck, invisible to the child’s eye, couldn’t help but stifle a mischievous chuckle as the young villager’s brow furrowed in concentration.

Child: “Alright, Mr. Pumpkin, hit me with your riddle. I’m ready!”

Chuck: “Ah, an eager one, I see. Very well, here it is. Listen closely. I’m a creature in Azeroth with long ears and a passion for carrots. I often travel with a trusty companion who is no ordinary animal. What am I?'”

The child’s face contorted as they pondered the riddle, but after a moment, their eyes dimmed with defeat.

Child: “Uh, is it a… um, a gnome on a giant chicken?”

Chuck couldn’t help but be amused by the child’s imaginative guess.

Chuck chuckles: “A gnome on a giant chicken, you say? Oh, close, but not quite. You’ll have to keep pondering, my young friend.”

The child’s shoulders slumped as they realized their guess was incorrect, and they walked away, disheartened

This peculiar pumpkin was rumored to possess the power to grant a single wish to anyone who could solve its riddle. However, guarding this magical gourd was a poltergeist named Chuck. Chuck was a spirit from an age long past, a trickster who reveled in pranks and wordplay. Although drawn to the village by the Hallow’s End festivities, he remained invisible, his lonely existence unnoticed.

In the village lived Martha, the elderly librarian renowned for her potion-making skills. Known for her odd attire, she donned mismatched socks and a tattered, rainbow-colored hat that had seen its fair share of Hallow’s Ends. One fateful Hallow’s End, as the moon cast an eerie glow upon the village, Martha ventured to the outskirts where the enchanted pumpkin stood and, instead of demanding a wish, she initiated a conversation with the guardian.

“Chuck,” she addressed the unseen presence, “I don’t seek your wish. I seek to understand your true desire. What would bring you happiness?”

This question took Chuck by surprise, for no one had ever asked him such a thing. He had reveled in confusing the villagers with riddles and pranks, but never had anyone shown genuine interest in him. His ethereal presence shimmered with a mixture of astonishment and curiosity.

In a spectral whisper, audible only to Martha, Chuck began to speak. “For centuries, I have guarded this pumpkin, amusing myself with riddles no one could solve. But, in doing so, I’ve grown increasingly lonely. I yearn for a friend, someone who appreciates my love for riddles and pranks, not just someone looking to exploit the magic of this pumpkin.”

Martha’s eyes sparkled. “I can be your friend, Chuck. We can spend Hallow’s End together!”

Chuck hesitated for a moment, and then, with a joyful, mischievous laughter, he agreed. The night transformed into a whirlwind of jokes and riddles, with the Darkmoon Faire grounds coming alive with their merriment. As they danced and sang under the moonless sky, villagers watched in astonishment.

As dawn approached, the enchanted pumpkin sensed the genuine friendship that had blossomed between Martha and Chuck. It began to shimmer, emitting a warm, golden light that enveloped Chuck. In a burst of magic, he was transformed into a human for the first time in centuries.

Chuck and Martha looked at each other in amazement. Chuck was now a living person, clad in old-fashioned attire. The villagers, initially cautious, soon accepted him, and the Darkmoon Faire grounds resonated with their laughter.

For one magical Hallow’s End night, Chuck savored the joys of human existence. He tasted candied apples, danced with children, and reveled in the warmth of friendship. Martha, still her peculiar self, celebrated the delight of her newfound friend’s transformation.

But, as dawn broke, the enchantment began to wane. With gratitude in his heart, Chuck looked at Martha and said, “Thank you for making my Hallow’s End wish come true.”

With a flash of light, Chuck transformed back into his poltergeist form, and the enchanted pumpkin vanished, as it did every year, awaiting the next hopeful soul who ventured its way.

Each year, when Hallow’s End arrived, the villagers gathered to watch the playful Chuck and the warm-hearted Martha share their riddles, laughter, and friendship, in the heart of the Darkmoon Faire grounds.

[Zeepkist-argent-dawn (Zeepkist)]

There once was an ugly man.

He was so ugly, that everyone died.

The end.

[Consumer-argent-dawn]

A quick bump for the weekend!

[Acrona-argent-dawn (Acrona)]

Afraid I have no time to participate in this myself, but this looks like a fun initiative! Get your Jack-o’-Pens out people!

[Cirelle-argent-dawn]

@Consumer-argent-dawn

a scary story below limited to 800 words or less.

@Consumer-argent-dawn

The story must be limited to a thousand words

Which one is it? Asking for a friend.

[Consumer-argent-dawn]

Oops! An oversight! Thank you for pointing that out.

The bar will be 800 words.

[Ruld-argent-dawn]

I hope this is ooky spooky enough

The elder mage had told herself she’d be prepared for this - and yet nothing could’ve prepared her enough. She always knew strife. Seen death, caused it. But when the stench of blood and guts hit her, her knees went weak once more.
Amber Mill was under siege. Invaded by an enemy that doesn’t fear, doubt or rest. The undead hordes were endless. The screaming and clashing of metal didn’t allow any recluse from the horror even under a bright blue sky. They should have retreated while they still could.

A sudden force struck her gut. A sting, a vicious bite. She shrieked and stumbled for balance as she stared down at her regalia. The purple fabric was painted with blood - a thick and barbed arrow right in its center. For a moment, the pain numbed as she considered the macabre beauty of the scene. Was she calmed by that sight of gruesome art, or was it the poison that laced the arrow? It hardly mattered once she fell to the ground, her vision fading.

Death was only a second. If she could think, she’d wish to know what conclusion she had come to. Whether the blood on her robes reminded her of a dahlia, or had it been a gilia if not for the color? What a grim final thought. Perhaps it would’ve been nicer to have thought of her family and friends. To consider the people who would care if she died. The flowers on her grave certainly wouldn’t care, regardless if they were dahlias or gilias.

She would’ve gotten ahead of herself, if death wasn’t only a second.

Her eyes darted open. The sky was still blue. She couldn’t smell the blood anymore. Was this still Amber Mill, or someplace else? She couldn’t think straight.

“Please be calm. You’re safe, now.”

An echoing voice spoke. It was a woman, as tall and gracious as her voice. She leant over the fallen mage, crouching to get a better look. Like a protective mother, she was fussing. Her eyes were obscured, but it seemed they would be kind. Her lips were round and gentle. Had Merin not known better, perhaps she fell in love then and there.

“You look so very tired… Life has not treated you well, hero.”

The tall woman spoke again. She briefly raised her feathered wing to shield Merins limp body from an incoming splatter of blood. The battle was still ongoing, wasn’t it? The escape from reality was welcome, but brief. The tall woman, no, bewinged woman was right. Merin had been fighting long enough. She had caught herself thinking many times that age would never take her - for strife would take her first. It wasn’t right.

“It’s not right.”

The bewinged woman echoed those thoughts. Merin felt more seen than ever. By a stranger, a being, treating her with such grace and understanding. When she saw those blue hands approach her, she expected a gentle embrace, a loving touch. But what she got was a hold colder than death cupping her cheeks, prompting her eyes wide open in terror.

“You’re on the right path, now. One more battle to end them all. Can you do this for me? For us?”

Merin nodded the best she could. After a while, even those cold hands felt numb. Just like the poison arrow. When she finally spoke, the words no longer felt like her own. What left her lips no longer came from her throat, lungs and heart - but from her mind and the terrifying power that kept it in place.

“What’s one more, then?”

She tried to joke, sardonic as ever. The tall woman seemed to like it. Her face was left alone as the woman searched for her abdomen instead. The rough, blue hand wrapped around the barbed arrow as though it was nothing and Merin could only watch as it was brutally dislodged from her gut. She didn’t even gasp.

As she was raised from the ground by the woman, the arrow was now placed in her own cold hand. The woman looked at her, and she knew she was meant to use it. She’d be safe. She’d rest. Just one more battle.

“Go forth, hero.”

The tall woman spoke one last time. Those words would echo within Merin as she watched the woman take to the skies. The beautiful sight inspired her for just a moment and she peered down at the mess of herself once more. She had created a poppy. What’s not to love about poppies? It seemed to be the perfect ending.

Dripping arrow in hand, she marched back into the battlefield with a newfound determination - this time towards her fleeing allies.

(I'm a beginner writer so you have to be nice to me because it's the law)

[Itlaris-argent-dawn (Itlaris)]

Here’s a short story;

In the eerie realm of Azeroth, where darkness and magic coexisted, there lived a young human boy named Charlie. He had always been fascinated by the dark arts, the forbidden powers that swirled in the shadows. As he grew older, his obsession with becoming a warlock intensified.

Charlie lived in a small village on the outskirts of Stormwind, where tales of warlocks were whispered like ghostly secrets. His parents, devout followers of the Holy Light, tried to steer him away from the dark path he seemed so drawn to. But Charlie’s curiosity knew no bounds. He sought knowledge wherever he could, reading ancient tomes and learning forbidden incantations in secret.

One fateful night, he stumbled upon a dusty old grimoire in the hidden alcove of a nearby cave. The book was bound in shadowy leather and emanated an ominous aura that sent shivers down Charlie’s spine. It contained dark rituals, demonic pacts, and secrets to harnessing the powers of the nether.

Charlie’s heart raced as he pored over the forbidden knowledge within its pages. With every incantation he read, his power grew, but so did his darkness. He reveled in the newfound abilities, summoning imps and spreading fear among the villagers. They soon dubbed him “Charlie the Damned,” for his once innocent heart had become tainted by the fel magic he wielded.

One moonless night, as Charlie stood at the crossroads of his destiny, he made a fateful decision. He would summon a powerful demon, a felguard, to make a pact that would grant him unimaginable power. Alone in the forest, he chanted the incantation, drawing forth a towering, menacing demon, its skin covered in smoldering runes.

The demon’s voice was like grinding stones, “What do you seek, mortal?”

With trembling resolve, Charlie declared, “I seek power beyond imagination. I offer you my soul in exchange.”

The demon grinned with a sinister pleasure. “Very well, mortal. Your soul shall be mine.”

Charlie felt a searing pain as the demon branded his soul with a mark of eternal servitude. He received the promised power, but it came at a terrible cost. His heart turned to ice, and his once-bright eyes now gleamed with an unholy fire.

With his newfound strength, Charlie descended upon the village, engulfing it in a maelstrom of dark magic. The villagers, helpless against his malevolent power, were consumed by fear.

But Charlie’s reign of terror was short-lived. As his powers grew, so did his hunger for more. The demon he had made a pact with, Thelgrimar, revealed his true intentions. Charlie was merely a pawn, a vessel for Thelgrimar to collect souls for his dark masters.

On a dark, stormy night, Thelgrimar returned to claim what was rightfully his. Charlie, now nothing more than a withered husk, was dragged into the nether by the demon, vanishing into the abyss.

[Cirelle-argent-dawn]

In the heart of the mist-laden woods, nestled between gnarled oaks and forgotten graves, lay the quaint little town known as Harvest Hollow. The hamlet was mostly forgotten by the world at large. No heroes of legend traced their humble origins to the Hollow, nor had dastardly villains arisen from that rustic collection of houses. The townsfolk rarely reached outside their community, and none outside had an interest in managing local affairs.

Thus, when William Lawkins entered the town square, he knew not what to expect. Word had unexpectedly reached his superior of foul play in Harvest Hollow, and in a macabre lottery, straws had been drawn among the fresh-faced newcomers to the force. William had not been fortunate, and thus had ridden for three days to reach the remote hamlet. Now that he had arrived, part of him wished only to turn around.

Lanterns, their glow flickering like ghostly orbs, cast elongated shadows on the cobblestone streets. The town square, dominated by a worn fountain, was surrounded by weatherworn benches that creaked with every shift of the cold autumn wind. The air was tinged with a subtle scent of decay, mingling with the fragrance of damp earth. Leaves, in shades of crimson and amber, carpeted the streets, almost whispering with every rustle.

Not far away stood a solitary figure in black, a hand resting upon the iron wrought gate to the churchyard. From the other side, the towering silhouette of the church spire seemed to reach for the dark skies above. “Excuse me?” ventured William, approaching the lone figure. A woman, he realized, dressed in mourning blacks. A thin veil obscured her features utterly, with only her ivory skin seeming almost translucent in the glow of… a pumpkin?

William had not noticed it from afar, yet held in the woman’s other hand was a steadily glowing jack’o-lantern. Its light, amber and warm, was a stark contrast to the gloom permeating the town. The lantern had been carved according to tradition; a wicked grin and leering eyes lit from within. Despite it surely being a trick of the light, William could have sworn the thing’s grin widened upon him seeing it.

The creak of metal broke the constable out of him reverie, just in time to see the widow enter the churchyard. Still carrying her lantern, she slowly moved down along the rows of** moss-covered headstones. With duty compelling him contrary to his instincts, the constable braced himself and followed the woman in black.

It was a simple matter to find her in the misty gloom, the fiery glow of her lantern amidst the greyish white of the air. The silent widow stood before an open grave – and she was not alone.

As William approached, the constable noticed half a dozen similarly dressed figures stood nearby, as though participating in a funeral service. “You should not have come to Harvest Hollow, mister.” True to her garments, the woman’s voice was laden with sorrow and weariness. With an icy chill in his gut, the constable realized that he was outnumbered.

A suspicion grim began to take form, and William turned towards the woman in black. “For whom was this grave dug, madam? Word of foul play has reached as far as Stormwind, yet neither details nor body have come to light.”

The sound she made was one of amusement, though bereft of any genuine mirth. It was the world-weary sound of someone who had experienced their share of hardship, and now faced the choice between laughter or tears. “Ah, but you see – the grave’s occupant is right here as planned.”

With a flurry of steel, the constable drew his sword in a heartbeat. Angrily jabbing its pointed tip towards the small gathering of locals to ward them off, William could not help but smile triumphantly at their scurrying away from him. “Mister,” the woman said in a suddenly pleading tone, “you must let the ceremony continue. To stop now would be disastrous!”

The constable was unmoved. He would not surrender himself as though a lamb to the slaughter. Scarcely had he opened his mouth to arrest the lot however, before he noticed the worried glances of everyone present. They were not looking at him – they were stealing concerned looks at the pumpkin. The true offering.

Realization dawned on him then; the fool he had been. Granted he had never seen the ritual before, yet he knew certain towns practiced it due to most desperate need. A token sacrifice of the harvest, in return for everyone in the village to be spared for another year.

With a quivering voice, he asked: “Is—is it too late?”

As a malevolent laughter echoed down from above and the first house burst into flames, William Lawkins had his answer.

The Answer

https://www.youtube.com/clip/Ugkxuz77QyBm_Ff_N3OPqMr3R1mkyxjzaT6-

Quite the challenge to keep it under 800 words, but a fun challenge regardless!

[Consumer-argent-dawn]

Muhahaha! At long last, the contest hath drawn to an end!

And the winners are:

1st place: Shared between Fizal and Ruld!
2nd place: Shared between Itlariz and Cirelle!
3rd place: Zeepkist, for his short short summary of the Shadowlands expansion!

I want to thank you each for participating and for sharing a lovely, spooky story of your own. Expect to reap your just rewards…

SoooOOoooOoon!

Happy Hallow’s End everyone!

[Cirelle-argent-dawn]

Yay!

Thank you for the initiative Consumer, it’s been a pleasure reading the other stories.

[Wíldaxe-argent-dawn]

I was too late, to add this winning entry…

“the girl doesn’t do it and then after a while she goes to sleep. the next morning she wakes up and finds her boyfriend still not there. she gets out to check and man door hand hook car door”

[Consumer-argent-dawn]

!

And now who is going to pay for the therapy I’ll surely need after being exposed to such horror?

[Ruld-argent-dawn]

Yippeee! Yay! Yippee! Yay! Yay!