$500 Halloween 50 Horror Word Story Contest 2019

in Featured/Fun for Writers

Welcome to our 2019 $500 Halloween Horror 50 Word Story Contest. Yes, that’s right. It’s already here. Every year we run our contests, and those of you who have been frequent readers, this is what you’ve been waiting for.

First we will be doing a print issue! We will be doing 2 print issues, and we will pick entries from this contest to be in our issue. If you had a 50 word story designated to be in our print issue, from a past contest, please contact us.

Second, we will be giving out a $500 reward for the best 50 word horror story. This is not easy for us. Every Writer is not doing as well as it did in the past, but we want your stories. I believe writers should get paid for their work. I wish we could pay all of our writers, but it’s just impossible. So $500 for 50 words, I think is a unique and valuable statement to our readers. Ten dollars a word is what all writers really deserve.

So here are the rules:

• Story must be scary
• Story must be 50 words
• Story must be original and your own
• Story may not be published elsewhere
• Story must have a title (does NOT count in word count)
• Deadline is October 25, 2019
• Enter as many times as you want
• Story must be written in the comments below!
• Be nice or be disqualified

I love these stories. This is one of favorite traditions of Every Writer. I look forward to this every year, and this year I have extended the time we are going to spend with the contest.

The winners will:

• Be announced on October 31, 2019
• Will get $500
• Will be published in our digital and print issue.
• Will get an author page on our site

There is no entry fee for this contest. It would help us out greatly if you would donate 1$ or more, if you can, to help out the site. We would really appreciate it. A donation will not be considered in the deciding this contest.

If you want to keep up with me on Twitter, please follow me at @everywriter, I follow back all writers.

Good luck, and let the writing begin.

Richard Edwards has a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism from Bowling Green State University and an M.S. in Education from the University of Akron. Managing editor of Drunk Duck, poetry editor for Prairie Margins, reporter for Miscellany, Akron Journal, Lorain Journal...check our About Us page for more. Also here is info on our On Classic Articles


    The tall rock blinks with glowing eyes in the darkness. More mesmerized than afraid, the lone traveller stands and waits for the rock to move. In this new world, nothing seems impossible. He has been moving through these Badlands for days, and has encountered things normal men have nightmares about.

    A woman with half a skull grinned at me from the back of the mortuary van. That night she stood next to my bed, wanting to get into bed with me. She shuffled rigor mortis stiff, holding out her arms in invitation. I tried to disappear into the wall behind.

    I step back in horror, allowing the paramedics to extricate the dead child. I see him winking. A chill goes down my spine. I look at the bridge high above me. The locals call it ‘the bridge of the soul collector’, and it is easy to see why they do.

    The boy gave me an evil knowing grin before shoving me aside. His small feet left muddy imprints on the wet ground. The infant squealed again; setting my teeth on edge with the sound. This time, the wailing sounded darker, ominous, and even angry. Could an infant even be angry?

  5. TREAT
    “Oh boy, do I have a treat for you!” the old hag grins, holding the bag out towards me with gnarled fingers. Her nails are long and dirty. I stick my hand into the bag and fear is a little squirming thing inside me. It is cold, clammy and dangerous!


    I have them trapped in the basement. Triple locked doors and barred windows. I can hear them and the shrill noises they make. I prepare their meals so they won’t starve. I mean, after all, I have a family to feed and humans taste best when they are properly nourished.

    Sue looks quite beautiful, frozen in death where she shares the drawer with Kathleen. From time to time they try to come back, wailing and hammering in the drawer. I never open it though, there is no escape. I fixed the drawer; I fixed the front door of the morgue.

    My stomach felt heavy with dread. The darkness inside somehow felt alive. Intense sulphuric fumes choked me and the constant loud thudding in my skull intensified. It was hard to breathe. I wanted to run but stayed, trapped between fear and curiosity. My palms were sweaty and my heart thumped.

  9. THE BOY
    It wasn’t only his eyes that made my breath catch in my throat. His eyes seemed to hold a secret knowledge, some ancient memory. He bared razor sharp teeth at me in a low growl. Disturbed, I let him pass. A whiff of something almost feral stayed in his wake.

    He screamed obscenities at an invisible foe. Have I stumbled into a funfair for the mentally unstable? If so, I reckon I would be a very good fit. A small voice inside my head said calmly; “You knew the odds when you entered. You have always known about this place.”

  11. Being Watched

    An orphan’s life’s all about never being noticed but the day a soul entered who stare, stalk, notice, accompany me in the bathroom where I have always felt the loneliest, I regret that it neither talk nor I can see it, but I can always feel it everywhere….

  12. RUNNER
    Dead people can’t run, can they? I wasn’t sure, and I was not waiting to find out. Tearing through the bushes and shrubs a thorny branch slapped me. Hot blood trickled down my cheek, coppery on my lips. I ran praying that cold dead hand won’t fall on my shoulder.

    She sat on the back seat, tongue lolling out of a blue face. I screamed then. Screamed loud and long; screamed until I could finally move my legs. I jerked at the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Her hand crawled across the back of the seat, reached out for me.

    “As far as you are going,” I muttered. He smiled, I saw something white moving under his tongue. As I watched, it wriggled out and fell on his shoulder. With revulsion I realized that it was a maggot. He did not seem to notice, and I choked on my terror.

  15. THE RIDE
    He looked like a normal guy, but he wasn’t. His fingernails were bloodied, torn in places; as if he dug into the ground with them. Maybe he clawed his way out of something. I decided I did not want to know. Sometimes a little knowledge could be a terrible thing.


    In deep despair, I call on the Lord of the Ritual, beseeching him to give me just one more chance to do penance. Behind the dark glass, I can hear malicious laughter. It angers me that the creature that I once controlled now has such complete possession of my soul.


    He muffles screams with gardening gloves. Her white uniform is mottled with blood. Nurse. Doctor. Dentist. A tattooed script rings her neckline, says – he must stoop lower to read: ‘Born To Be Alive’. He removes her head with a spade and his heel, unable to resist such a brazen challenge.

  18. It’s Always Behind Me

    It’s always behind me. I don’t know what it is, for I’m always too scared to look. I could hear the heavy breathing, the low menacing growls, like that of a dog but worse. I feel like a mouse stalked by a cat. I know it’s closing in on me.

    A scream of terror builds up in her throat. It is him, the boy from her nightmares. Complete with black eyes and half his skull blown away. At first he doesn’t speak. Then he reaches for her arm with his hand, and she watches maggots falling off. “Trick or treat?”

  20. Gone

    I strummed on my guitar as the night wailed with me. The whiskey didn’t make it better, but it couldn’t be worst. I felt her hand caress my shoulder as I played into the night. Our ghosts always haunt us when we need it most.

    • Sorry, realized it wasn’t 50 words. Here it is with 50 words


      I strummed on my guitar as the night wailed with me. The whiskey didn’t make it better, but it really couldn’t be worst. I felt her hand caress my shoulder as I played into the night, hours faded to nothingness. Our ghosts always haunt us when we need it most.

      • It should read “couldn’t be worse” rather than “worst.” Do you mean when we need the ghosts most, in which case it should be need “them” most? It’s good. I want it to be right.


    Rugarou’s (Werewolves) are about the scariest thing I can think to write about! Marco Polo saw men with dog’s heads, when he came to America. They fed on humans, so he left America. Rugarou’s were spotted from Newport Beach to Victorville, California. They are all over the place!

  22. On The Run

    Tonight may be my last. I’m exhausted from running. They can’t pursue me during the day. Something about the sun. They evolve every day and no longer slither. Why they want to kill me I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter. The sun is down. I must keep moving.


    She shunted closer, zombie-grunting; same noise as when she’d tell us she was thirsty. Was the neighbour who killed her. “Don’t. She’s my sister. She’s got Cerebral Palsy.” Bang! Her zombie-face, not much uglier than before, looked Heavenwards up. The wheels of her chair spinning in my eyeballs forever to come.

  24. Imitation

    My mother disappeared last night. There was blood. A lot of it. On the front porch. In the drag marks across the yard. I can hear her calling to me. Or is she. They can imitate people. They are good at it. She sounds weak and desperate. It’s my move.

  25. “A Dark Truth”

    The university had been good to Dr. Willis; providing him everything he needed in his investigation. He finally discovered the truth about dark matter. The rift to Hell at the end of the cluttered physics lab oozed the matter now visible to him. He pressed the revolver to his head.

    I have never liked white. White walls, white jackets, grey floors. Boring, dull. The problem is that I am surrounded by white and grey in this place, and I don’t believe I will leave here anytime soon. If only this demon would stop following me, I would not be here.

    When I wake to the sound of cracking, I am aware that it is her rigor mortis body snapping unto itself as she crawls down the hallway. I knew it was only a matter of time before she would seek revenge. There is no escape, soon she will find me.

  28. FRIEND
    Yesterday my parents told me that I was too old for an imaginary friend and that I had to let her go. They found her body this morning. But it is okay, she is back with me, even though her eyes are black and her skin pale white and bruised.

    Perspiration beads his forehead as the snake slides across his stomach. He shuts his eyes and prays for the snake to move on. His skin crawls with revulsion at the scales touching him. Then suddenly, the coils tighten around him and he can’t breathe. This is no way to die!

  30. ROOKIE

    The phone rings.
    “Fire departme-”
    The old woman’s voice is frantic, almost crying.
    “Crimson residence, 13th Street”, I say while running to get my gear.
    “Crimson? Ignore that call” the Chief shouts.
    “A prank call?”
    Everyone’s quite.
    “That house is gone. The old woman was from two years ago”.

  31. The Knock

    “Who is at the door this late?” Knock, knock. The knocks had echoed into the hallway of the house. “It’s two in the morning…” Knock, knock.
    “Please open the door, I’m cold” A voice quietly came out. “It’s me Josh, Sarah”
    “Sarah? You’ve been dead for the last five years…”

  32. Hors d’Oeuvres, Anyone?

    She sucked gook off one inch-long yellowed nail, then bent to scoop up Buster’s half-eaten eyeball which was looking straight at me. “So much for after-school friends,” I mumbled.
    She rounded on me. “Your turn!”
    “No way can I—”
    “Take your punishment like a man.”
    “What? Mom! No!”

  33. The Things We Can’t Stop

    I awake in a sweat, though I haven’t slept in days. Never alone now with these voices in my head.
    “You’re slipping,” say Sam.
    “And sliding,” says Jay.
    And all of them in unison, “You’re becoming.”
    I stagger to the bathroom, slowly face the mirror.
    I have become my mother.

  34. Good night, Sweetheart

    ‘What a lovely evening’, Mary thought when she looked from the bathroom window. Just when she saw the footprints in fresh snow leading across the garden right to her back door, she realized that the noises she’d heard downstairs might’ve not been just the cat. But it was too late…

  35. Encounter with the Maid Laird of the Scottish Moors

    Sam Adams was walking the Scottish Highlands on a trek. A fog descends on the moors. He hears a bagpiper piping a mournful tune. An old laird riding a black horse appears offers him a drink. And asks him,,

    “Do you believe in ghosts?”

    And cut off his head.

  36. Skilled
    It was skilled and irresistible. The blanketing warmth of its body as it neared. The tease of its feather-like touch, delicately tracing across the skin. The sensual wash of its breath. And as such, it heard not so much as a whimper when its teeth penetrated to its victim’s heart.

  37. My Time to Die

    I run breathlessly through the misty forest, tree limbs as bony fingers tearing at my flesh. The hounds of hell chase me to into a roach infested tunnel. Glowing eyes approached me, the decaying face revealed in the dim moonlight. It was me. “It’s time,” he says, in my voice.

  38. Fear Him

    The phone beeped as it dialed 911. “Shhh.” She whispered. ‘Did he hear that?’ Crouching in the closet, she covered her mouth with her hand. She winced, trying not to cry. Just as the operator picked up the line, the closet door burst open. “You stupid, bitch.” Her husband yelled.

  39. With the Enemy

    Helena stood on shaky legs; chains hung broken on her wrists. “We have to run, Ron.” She said. Helena began pushing open the heavy dungeon door. Snarling came from behind her. Ron smirked, a bit of fang peeking out over his lip. Helena screamed. Ron’s eyes gleaming brightly, he lunged.

  40. Saved

    “Shhh, or I’ll break your other arm too, whore.” He gripped me rough as he dragged me to his car. I struggled and he hit me hard over the head. I woke up to the sound of my bones snapping and skin tearing. I see a knife. Please God help—


    Opening her eyes to darkness in a confined space, she felt what should have been a door that she wanted to able to force open. But she kept pushing with no luck. “HELP,” she screamed. Opening her mouth again, she found gasping for nonexistent oxygen before surrendering herself to darkness.

  42. Inevitable

    Falling with nothing to prevent this law of physics. Wanting to grasp onto something—but there was nothing tangible. The concrete floor was coming closer and closer until she felt the cold hard floor against her head. Wanting to open her eyes again but she would never open them again.

  43. New Life

    “I noticed some strange new buds on that plant in the back yard,” Roberta gushed to her best friend Gloria. “You gotta come over and look.” Gloria found her friend’s head, eyes bulging in terror, next to her limbs and empty dress, the red-stained pods above her, engorged and pulsing

  44. The Escape

    I hate Halloween. I flee to my country house to avoid the trick-or-treat silliness. Yet, someone knocks at my door, wearing a witch costume, silent, grinning, with blackened teeth. I apologize, I have no candy. I reach out to give her an apple and my hand goes right through hers.

  45. Above the Neck

    It was fast, mostly painless. A quick jab in the back of my neck and I dropped to the floor, paralyzed. Fear turned to confusion as he left the room, returning with a small cage covered by a towel.
    “She’s a picky eater,” he said and opened the cage door.

  46. Revenge of a Woman Scorned!

    I should have known not to trust her! I screamed myself awake upon hearing dirt shoveled into the grave. Soil thumping heavily atop the coffin lid just above my head. What? There’s something furry awakening between my legs. It’s a nasty hissing tomcat that’s biting clawing shredding my private parts!

  47. Daddy Long Legs

    Ashes and molasses. He smelt that way to me. I could hear him creeping up the attic stairs. Quiet, baby boy, my brain hissed out my nose. I hid beneath the bed with my hand over my mouth. Do not find me, daddy, as I saw his boots come in.

  48. The Hairy Terror

    After his death, Trump’s hair left its host and went off in search of another. It found one suitable enough not far away, on Capitol Hill. There, its reign of terror and idiocy was born anew, its mission continued for years to come. No matter what, the hair rises again.

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