Welcome to the page dedicated entirely to stories, be they great works of literature or your own creations.
Send any submissions for this page to Flannery, SeleneTremere, or Tool1991.
Feel free to send a short story or poem of your own in, which will be posted on this page, under the category of Your Own Works. Give your story/poem a name when you submit it.
Send a review of anything you have read recently that you would like to share with the rest of the house. Include a brief summary of the book, followed by your opinion and a rating out of ten of the book you are reviewing.
Submit some names of books you feel are classics. A list of the 100 greatest works of literature will be compiled, so please tell us your idea of a classic book.
Lastly, you may participate in the House Epic. The story will be started by one member of the house, and then will be passed around from member to member, each creating their own bit of the story. If you receive the chain, contribute a section, and send one copy to a new member of your choice, as well as one of the contact names listed above.
For the Book Reviews and Your Own Works, ten entries will be kept up at a time.
Your Own Works
-To Our Miracle-
Submitted By HiddenFyre
This waiting becoming unbearable
All I want is to hold you in my arms
Gaze into your eyes, my lil pup
See what this long wait has produced
Who you most closely resemble
Love you and cherish you
Our precious gift from God
Come soon, little one.
Submitted by Luv4AnImmortal
I feel as though I just watched you as you sliced my wrists clean open to watch my lifesblood pour from me....the essence of all my being has been taken from me for you to enjoy....does this please you....is this what you wanted to take all from me and leave nothing...if it is then you have succeeded in your plans....I am torn and broken....my eyes hurt as if they have been gouged out by razorwire from cryin as you tore me open to leave me exposed....pour salt on me now...what more could it hurt...ahh yes wouldn't hurt you a bit...you like to see others suffer...as this nothingness consumes me ....can you feel anything for what you have done....no of course not this is what it is like to love you....ripped to shreads for your amusement.....I am pretty close to my death now....why don't you just end it for me....take the last of your harsh words and slit my throat for then it can be over for me...then I can have closure...until then I am a helpless slave to your torture a neverending display for you to admire in all of your wickedness....though I need you to know that in all of this as you sacrifice me for yourself....that I do it all....because I love you.....
-To Be Gone -
Submitted by Heartlessarchangel
To be gone,
To not live in this world. To not breathe
a slight breathe of air.
To never see the complication
of a life long story and to give
away your skin to the earth
who gladly accepts it with pleasure,
as the people who once loved you,
disown your body so easily and simply
as though nothing is wrong
and the look of we'll see each other again.
The prosperity of anger
whelms up inside those who were shocked to
See the apatite of there imagination
and see the memories of themselves
slowly destroy all trace of
sanity that once lived in
Yet the deep longing to live
and the great passion to die
and the niave inheirted feelings
developed by your worst fears
somehow survive to be something
not worthy to be a true breathing
being, nor deserves a life.
But the remembrance
of the unspoken words that
ran out of your mouth seem to keep
biting my skin even though
I am not in it.
To see the dead bleed is a fantastic dream
that seems to never end, yet seems to
be a joke among the living,
and the few last seconds spent breathing in
the sad laughter of the cruel, mistaken animals
or otherwise known as humans,
are cold and worthless.
In the end, the greatest gift is
to slowly be forgotten, and to be
moved along with the waves in the ocean
as the ships carry over me.
The loveliness, to be gone.
Submitted by lilwhitewolf
There he is,standing there.Watching all the female mortals,this hunger and lust is getting deeper.He must feed,this hunger grows deeper the longer he waits.Then he sees her,Something inside him says.I have to have her,She must be his..He follows her,Watching where she goes.Her long brown hair flowing behind her.She is pretty.The need to have her is getting stronger.Still watching her,He grows hungery.She will have to wait,He must feed.Now he hunts,He But he can't take his prey.The need to have that beauty is calling,He looks to find her again.But she is nowhere to be found..
-The Eternal Craving-
Submitted by DireConsequences
The craving I just can't get rid of
The craving that is a part of me
The craving for the pain, the drama, the feeling of being hurt, punished
The craving that is always there
It curls around my heart
Killing everything I feel
The only thing real for me
The satisfaction from the pain
People seeing me only in horrible vain
Not understanding the feelings of worthlessness and shame
Until the dark angel of death comes for the claim
The final deal that scares me more then the ever holding rape
That has forever scarred this heart with a continuing gap
The craving for the sex and torture
My dreams plagued with the craving at night
Sending a sick and twisted form of rapture
Until the demons diminish within the morning light
Somehow disappointed within the reality it wasn't real
Lost within the sensation that I used to feel
The feelings of a sweet innocence
The feelings that will never again exist
Within my mind, my thoughts to consume me
Forever to be doomed with this everlasting enemy
The one who destroyed me
So long ago somewhere in another century
The one who never got their punishment
The family who left me within their hateful abandonment
Rejected by everyone, including friends who once were
They blame me that separate world
The world I had completely no control over
The world that I thought was all over
Until that day my sister came into that world to join
No matter how badly I fought and whined
No matter what I said
The voice inside my head
Convinced me I would be better off dead
Thinking of the horrible past instead
Of the future my true friends held waiting for me
Paralyzed with the craving that I feel, afraid of being free
Afraid of this craving that envelopes around me
Devolouring me and everything that I see
The craving for the pain of rape
For my heart to have another gash that gaps
The feelings of damnation back
As the molesters come up with excuses that are crap
The memories are sickening and so terribly sweet
As the wounds are cut so incredibly deep
So deep that no one would ever think
That as I sit, I just sink
Sink into the nothingness of a shell
From the childhood that belonged in hell
Dying from the life that was so far behind
Thinking of another way to hide
From these demons I'm afraid to face
As it is me that I must chase
It's all my fault
I'm so engulfed
With these feelings that scare me from the depths within my mind
The sensations of the raping that I miss and adore
But I try to keep these craving behind a locked door.
The House Epic
Memories from so long ago are now but a distant dream. I remember being turned, I remember the very first night I felt something wasn’t quite right with myself.
It was a gloomy night Cardiff. The sky was hazed over with a thick fog and I was tired, so very tired. I’d walked for miles it seemed, my neck burning, every muscle in my body screaming in agony for me to stop, for me to rest. I couldn’t stop, nor could I rest, I was terrified at what had just happened, and fearful that whatever that had bitten me, would fine me again.
I made to my flat, in which I shared with a roommate, Dolores. The flat was dark when I got in, so I was careful to keep silent. I dumped my heavy brown leather coat on a chair, kicked off my battered pair of white chucks, and crashed on the couch. There was something very odd about laying here in the darkness, on the couch at three am. It just felt, different, and I stared at the large window that faced the street outside and my mind took over. I could imagine, that creature standing there, again outside that window waiting for me.
I really couldn’t make sense of it, whatever had happened. The blood from my wound stopped long ago, and now it was nothing but a sticky mess, scabbed and dried.
I don’t remember falling asleep either, but I dreamt about many things. I dreamt of steel blue eyes, and empty streets where footsteps could be heard by the owner nowhere in sight.
“Plan on lying there all day, Corinne?”
I was awakened by the familiar sound of Dolores’s voice and I stirred, feeling no better than I had when I passed out. I opened my eyes, and immediately wished I hadn’t. The room was bright -- brighter than usual. The sun outside seemed intensified for some unknown reason, and the glare of it’s shine felt like it was setting my brain on fire. I shut my eyes again, tightly, but the pain didn’t subside. As best I could, stumbled to the window and felt for the cord that would draw the thick drapes closed. The room darkened again, and the pain in my head lessened, but was still there. Squinting slightly, I reached over towards my coat in the chair and took my sunglasses out of the pocket
“Heavy night last night?” Dolores asked, an uplift of surprise in her voice. “Really, Corinne, it’s not like you to get carried away at a pub.”
A pub? Suddenly I started to recall those steel blue eyes again. The ones that belonged to the creature outside my flat window. I saw them again, last night. Staring at me through the glass of the Gilded Lily. Those eyes seemed to stare right into my mind, into my soul. I sat there for nearly four hours, nursing my one pint. I was too frightened to drink any faster than that, frightened of whatever it was I saw staring at me. Frightened because in those four hours, the thing had not moved, not once.
The man. The man sitting three seats down from me. He was now next to me, asking if I was all right. He had asked twice, though I only realized he was speaking the second time. I broke from my trance and glanced at him, then back at the Gilded Lily’s window.
The steel blue eyes, and their owner, were gone.
He had offered to walk me home, that man, and I was tempted to say yes. But I didn’t, I convinced myself I was being foolish. My pint had been empty for nearly a quarter-hour, and the pub was going to close in another. The flat wasn’t far, just down Queen Street eleven blocks and a turn to the left, and besides, the streetlamps would keep the area lit and warn me of any stranger that approached.
So why didn’t I see him coming?
“Corinne?!” Dolores’s voice, sounding both concerned and nettled, snapped me from my thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to say, my voice heavy and disoriented from the sudden reappearance of reality. “What did you say?”
“I was asking you about that mark on your neck,” Dolores said, and my hand instinctively flew to my wound. “Ye gods, girl, what happened?” she asked, “You get attacked by an animal last night?”
I didn’t realize it then, and Dolores would never know, but there was no better way to put what transpired than the way she just had. I nodded without speaking.
“There have been a lot of animal attacks lately,” Dolores said, “I hadn’t paid them much mind until my friend Maeve was attacked in Bute Park a fortnight ago. Poor Maeve’s been at St. David’s ever since. They think it was a dog what bit her. Lost a lot of blood, she did. Since then I’ve been keeping up on them in the Echo. A lot of the attacks happened around the area of Bute Park. Some say it has to do with Cardiff Castle.”
“Too many people go in and out of Cardiff Castle on a daily basis for it to be keeping any secrets, Dolores,” I said, beginning to feel irritated.
“They do say it’s haunted, Corinne.” Dolores replied.
“How can it be haunted?” I asked, becoming increasingly abrasive, “I just told you people go through it every day.”
“But my gran says --”
“Your gran’s mad, Dolores,” I said, interrupting her. “She says a lot of things, and I’ve already learned not to listen!”
“Gran is mad, yes,” Dolores replied, “but still, what a thing to say!” She started to turn towards the door, when she stopped. “Oh, I’d nearly forgotten, your brother called while you were out last night.”
“What did Martin want?” I asked, wondering why he’d call out of nowhere like this.
“To warn you about the animal attacks,” she said, with an ironic smile, which faded quickly when she continued. “He also wanted to tell you that Robert’s dead. They found him late last night, said the cause of death was blood loss. He had teeth marks in his neck, like all the others. His were so deep that they punctured his larynx and esophagus.”
I tried to focus, but the news hit me like a blow from nowhere. “Robert…” I whispered. “I don’t understand, nobody died from these attacks before.”
“Yes they did.” Dolores stated matter-of-factly. “Old Mrs. Davenport died last week at Health Hospital from a bite. And poor Margot Bunton lost her husband just nine days ago.”
“I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore,” I said, feeling that same sense of uneasiness sweep upon me again. Dolores took the hint and left for work, without even so much as a polite “Goodbye.”
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