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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Horror/Scary · #2233146
Writer's Cramp
I shivered as I noticed a lighted candle in the old, abandoned house in the woods. No one has lived there in my lifetime, albeit that's only fourteen years. I pushed aside the undergrowth so I could sneak a closer look. A large spider hung ominously over my hiding place. As the wind changed, it carried a faint whiff of wood smoke. I knew from previous forays that the kitchen had an old wood burning range. What's cooking? I sniffed the air. It smelled like pork.

The sharp crack of old, dry wood being stepped on made me jump. I looked behind me, fearing I had been discovered by the occupants.

"What's up!" Fred ducked into my verdant tent, fighting off the spider as he came.


"What are we shushing for?" I grabbed him, pulling him down. Then I put my hand over his big gob.
I kept my voice low. "There's someone in the haunted house." I pointed to the candle burning in the upstairs window.

"Smells like..." he lowered his voice as I thumped him. "Sorry... smells like dinner. Who do you think it is?"

"Well, it ain't no ghost."

"Why not?"

"Er ...Ghosts don't eat dinner, idiot." I cuffed Fred around the ear. As raindrops started to infiltrate our cover, a scream came from inside the house. Looking back to the lighted window, I could make out the outlines of three figures. Two 'people' were holding on to one. The one was trying to escape their grasp. Then the candle blew out.

More screams followed, female screams, coming from where I knew the kitchen to be. Than silence. The smell of cooking pork grew massively stronger.

"You know, they say human flesh burning smells a lot like pork."

Fred stared at me wide-eyed. "You don't think ..."

I looked at him carefully, every roll of fatty tissue. He would indeed make a good meal.

317 words
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