As promised, it’s time for yet another five-sentence scary story contest. This time, you have an entire weekend to submit your story in the comments.
First, please take a look at this recent photo:
Now, for the rules.
This is a Five-Sentence Scary Story Contest. Your job is to come up with a creative and frightening story inspired by this photo (please submit your story via comment), while adhering to the following five rules:
Rule #1: It doesn’t have to have anything to do with the actual real-life subject/explanation of the photo.
Rule #2: It has to involve a character nicknamed “Mr. Shifty.” There is nothing significant behind the name “Mr. Shifty.” I thought of it, it made me laugh, and I want to see how you turn something that makes me laugh into something foreboding.
Rule #3: Somewhere, your story must contain this phrase: volcanic ash cloud.
Rule #4: Your story must contain five sentences. No more. No less. However, there are no rules dictating the length of your sentences
Rule #5: Your story must be frightening, moody, mysterious, or otherwise scary in tone.
The winner gets a free copy of O Me of Little Faith. I will determine the winner based on a highly subjective formula that considers creativity, style, adherence to the rules, and the relative awesomeness of your story in comparison to other submissions.
The contest will last until 9 am central time on Monday, April 26, at which point I’ll choose my favorite five-sentence submission. To get things started, my own submission is below. (Don’t worry, though. Despite my raging ego, I probably won’t choose myself as the winner. Though the shipping costs would be much less expensive that way.)
Gerald coughed, gagged, and then stumbled in the rancid mud. The volcanic ash cloud had swallowed the horizon now, a black devouring nothingness that brought him to his ancient knees. Greasy fingers against his neck woke him from his stupor, and suddenly there was young Mr. Shifty, the farmer, dragging him through the muck toward the Dark Place. Not the barn, Gerald thought, his wool trembling in the premature twilight. Please, God, not the barn.
Your turn. Go!