Spooktober Horror: Alice

Way back when I was a lad, I had aspirations of being a creative story writer. It was only until after high school that I realized creative writing is REALLY hard, and I’ve kind of chilled out on it. However, I like going back and reading my stories, awful they may be. Recently, I started writing again, and one of my more successful stories is a little story called Alice. I’ve noticed that my writing is really metaphorical, but I’m not gonna spoil what I was trying to get across here.

Somebody even liked my story so much they made a dramatic reading of it!

However, I would much prefer you read my story first before listening to it.

Without further ado, here is Lumi’s first try at writing a horror short story.

Breaking up with Alice

I graduated from high-school at an all-time high in my life. I was valedictorian. I was born into a rich family. I had universities begging for me right after graduation. I had never really thrown any parties before, but I realized that I had spent most of my teen life studying. Maybe it was time to kick back and throw myself a celebration.

That night, I met Alice for the first time.

She was hanging by the cooler, a girl about my age with blonde hair, slender figure and a pretty but fiery face. I recognized her as a girl around school who always hung around with the popular kids, but she wasn’t really a student there. She would hide from teachers, and only ever show up for parties. I had written her off as one of those “mean girl” types and did my best to ignore her.

Alice gestured towards me and asked me why I wasn’t partying at my own party. I told her I was just happy being able to throw a party, and I meant it. My friends started cheering me on, saying “Come on, Alice here is telling you to go fucking party!” Against my better judgment, I followed their advice, and Alice led me in hand to the wildest night of my life. Funny enough, I don’t remember much about him.

I started to fall in love with Alice. She gave me the confidence I didn’t know I had.

I met her over summer break again. Strangely, she was at my mom’s birthday party, but she had dyed her hair red.  Not only that, she also looked older. She was still pretty, but instead of looking like a bombshell party girl, she was more regal and elegant; almost like an actress from the 50s. She would talk with the guests like she had known them all their lives, and even got them to share embarrassing stories about themselves. I lost count of how many times I heard people compliment her looks despite her age. We locked eyes, and she tackled me in a hug.

“Wow, you’re that crazy birthday boy, Alan!” and she started rambling about how fun I was to be around, and that we should hang out more. That kind of shattered the whole regal beauty vibe, but I didn’t care. We talked for hours, and by the end of the night, Alice was my girlfriend.

When college came, it turned out that we were in the same university. This time, she was back to a dirty blonde, and had slimmed down immensely. Her makeup was always a bit runny, but she was still a knockout. She was also always taking me out to parties. My grades were sinking sure, but my parents were too loaded to let me fail, and I took full advantage of that. 

First, it was small. She would cause me to bump into people, or embarrass me by talking over my words. I just chalked it up to the chaos of college parties at the time. However, one night during the second year, she got accidentally pushed by some freshman, and angrily, she told me to “beat the shit out of this guy, Alan!” 

An intense buzzing accompanied these words, and without even thinking, I swung my entire fist towards this kid’s face. I felt his nose shatter, and the warm blood on my knuckles. I looked at Alice, and was surprised when she put her tongue in my mouth. After a quick but sloppy makeout session, she said, “Beat up this little twerp.”

I grabbed the kid up from the floor and punched him again and again. One of his friends tried to stop me, and pushed me off. Some of my buddies started to defend me, and that’s when the kid’s friend knocked Alice straight to the floor. In tranquil fury, I tackled him to the ground and started punching.

It was an all-out mob, fists and feet were flying in every direction. I didn’t care who or what I hit, I just had to hurt people. For a moment, I looked for Alice to see if she was okay. I found her lying down on the floor, face up.

And she was smiling.

Her head was being stepped on, and her arms were at odd angles, but she didn’t even react. Her eyes were glassy, but her smile was so wide you could swear her teeth were trying to escape her mouth. Before I could pick her up, somebody knocked me out.

Next thing I knew, I woke up in the dorm room of one of my friends with a half-melted ice pack on my head. A few months passed, and I didn’t see her for a while. I was paying attention in class again, and put off being invited to parties. Not just to avoid the concussions, but also to avoid Alice. Friends came and went until eventually, they just went. For a time though, I felt peaceful.

I still couldn’t get her glassy-eyed grin out of my thoughts. I thought it was over between us. One night, I went to a party for the first time in months, and almost immediately, I blacked out.

When I woke up, she was on top of me, but she wasn’t even remotely pretty anymore. Only a trace of what I first saw in her remained. Her eyes were glazed over. Her hair had taken dirty blonde to a whole new level. Her face and body were worryingly skeletal.

That is, except for her bulging stomach. It wasn’t bulging like a pregnant woman’s, but like a balloon filled with not enough water. Her teeth were now yellow and small, but she still wore the same dazzling smile that she always had. Her hands were like mangled claws, gently stroking my face.

I tried to speak, but she held a horribly long finger to my mouth to silence me. She slowly put her hand into my mouth, and started to pull down.

I could only make loud groans as she slowly opened my jaw. My jaw was unhinging past what was humanly possible, and I could feel every muscle tearing, but I remained still, unable to scream. With both hands, she started to crawl into my mouth. She put her head in first, and started forcing her way down my throat. Her body was contorting in inhuman ways to force itself down. Meanwhile, despite my terror, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by how macabre and distorted my body had become.

Eventually, her entire frame was managing to fit inside of my body.  I wanted to scream again, but I choked and felt bile rise up. Furiously, she violently kicked out with her leg and broke my jaw completely, causing me to fall over in pain.  I clawed at my stomach in a futile attempt to “beat her out”. I could feel her wriggling. Her hands were looking for something, and I felt her feeling up all of my internal organs. After a moment, she stopped. 

I closed my eyes for a moment, and I held my jaw. It was healed. Or was it really broken at all?  I was in the classroom, and my professor was telling me to pay attention. I said sorry, and went back to my textbooks. I shook off the remainder of sleep still left in my system, and felt a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. I excused myself, and the professor allowed me, muttering to himself about millenials and their weak bladders.

On the way there, I felt a sharp stab in the side of my body, and I collapsed. A few passersby rushed to help me, and I realized I was screaming. My whole body was on fire. Somebody gave me a bottle of water, and I gulped it down greedily. I relaxed, and splayed out on the floor, feeling judging eyes on me. I chuckled, and stood up.

Just as suddenly, her hand shot out of the side of my body. It was clutching something hard and swollen, but by that point, I was in too much shock to realize what it was at the time.

I woke up again in a white room, and with tubes attached to me. 


It’s been two years since that day.

Alice was lying in a pool of blood, looking almost like how I first met her, only pale and lifeless. She whimpered pathetically. I hoisted her up, threw her over my shoulder and walked over to my balcony.

With great effort, I flung her over. She hit the pavement with a splat, painting the sidewalk with her bodily fluids. I waved to a neighbor on the second balcony, and she regarded me with a huff. I was taken aback, but I shrugged my shoulders. It was hard to let her go, but I had a whole life without Alice to enjoy. My phone rang. It  was my mom. She was berating me for some mundane errand I forgot to do for her, but I took the hits. Her voice lowered gently, and she asks me if I’m okay.

For a while, I stay silent, and I say “Yeah. I’m okay.” She sighed in relief, and told me to stay safe. She hung up the phone.

It’s been two years since that day. I haven’t drank a drop since.

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