{"id":2685,"date":"2014-09-30T03:35:46","date_gmt":"2014-09-30T03:35:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/?p=2685"},"modified":"2014-09-30T03:35:46","modified_gmt":"2014-09-30T03:35:46","slug":"horror-contest-patchwork-wood-bridget-spindler","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/horror-contest-patchwork-wood-bridget-spindler\/","title":{"rendered":"Horror Contest: Patchwork Wood by Bridget Spindler"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Alley,<\/a>
Alley, Brenham by Christopher Woods<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Patchwork Wood<\/h1>\n

by Bridget Spindler<\/p>\n

\n\u200b
\nThey never spoke about what was at the top of the old oak stairs. No one spoke a word when a curious child wandered away from his parents and crept up those ancient oak stairs. They did not attempt to stop him. The hotel staff said even less when the little boy did not come back down. The only sign that they even knew about the stairs was the guilty glances exchanged when sobbing parents begged for someone, anyone, to help them find their son.
\n\u200b
\nBut alas, this is not where this story starts. Rather, it starts two hundred years ago in a forest so old not even the oldest natives can remember a time when the branches did not touch the sky.
\n\u200b
\nRichard cursed under his breath. He hated his job. He absolutely hated it. Today it filled him with even more hate than usual. His hands ached and it sent waves of pain to his brain every time he moved his legs. Richard wanted nothing more than to go back in time and continue his schooling. The stupidest thing he had ever done was skip school to get a job early. If he had gone to school, he wouldn\u2019t be in this god-forsaken forest chopping down trees with a rusty ax.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet back to work Tennyson!\u201d The angry growl of his boss interrupted his pessimistic train of thoughts. Richard scowled. In a few more chops he would have the tree down. There was no reason for the man to end his brief break. He swung his ax into the ancient oak. Once, twice, crack. The tree fell with an enormous crash. And then the explosion rocked the land. Or rather what the workers assumed was an explosion. It wasn\u2019t till they had already sold the tree that they realized Richard\u2019s body was the only thing burned.
\n\u200b
\nStrange happenings followed the old oak Richard Tennyson had spent his last moments cutting down. The first carpenter to ever touch it drowned on dry land before he could even take his knife to the oak. The second had just bought the shockingly cheap wood when he had been sliced into hundreds of pieces by an invisible force. The third\u2019s heart had been carved out by his own tools. Finally an old man building a hotel bought the oak wood. It had been sold with a warning that the elder paid no heed to. Surprisingly nothing happened to the old man. He used the wood to build the stairs to the third floor of his precious hotel. The week after the hotel was finished the old man died. He had been skinned alive.
\n\u200b
\nThe old man\u2019s hotel was passed down from father to son, mother to daughter for decades. The secret of the third floor stairs was passed through the blood line. No one in the family touched the stairs. They valued their lives. And anyone who went up, well, that was too bad. They shouldn\u2019t have gone up there in the first place. No one ever came down. That is, until someone did.
\n\u200b
\nSarah sent a fleeting glance towards the forbidden stairs. No one had gone up in months, to her relief. She hated watching them go up and never come down. It was depressing to think about all the people her family had caused to die, all the people she had caused to die. The little boy had been the worst. He had been so small, so sweet. She had wanted to scream, yell, beg the child to leave and never come back. She just wasn\u2019t brave enough. Sarah had long since realized she was a selfish coward. A door creaked somewhere in the old house. Sarah frowned. No one should have been up. She glanced at the grandfather clock; 2:00AM. No one was supposed to be awake. The creak came again, this time louder. It was coming from the third floor Sarah realized, chills running down her spine. No one should be upstairs. Sarah froze. The creak came again. Someone or something was coming down the stairs. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was coming. Sarah couldn\u2019t move, she couldn\u2019t breathe. She was paralyzed with fear. Thump. Thump. Thump. Sarah clenched her eyes shut. She couldn\u2019t look. The sound stopped. She wouldn\u2019t look, she wouldn\u2019t look, she wouldn\u2019t\u2026 Sarah couldn\u2019t help it. Her eyes flew open. Standing at the bottom of the steps was the most grossest thing she had ever seen. The thing looked like a patchwork quilt with human skin instead of cloth. Its right arm was a dark tan while its left was milky white. One of its eyes was a dark blue while the other a light brown. Every body part was a different shade of color. Where colors met it looked as if the flesh had been melded together. Sarah stared in horror. Her eyes drifted to the hands. They were child sized and with sickening clarity she knew they were the little boys.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks for the spare parts.\u201d The creature grinned a blood soaked smile.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

They never spoke about what was at the top of the old oak stairs. No one spoke a word when a curious child wandered away from his parents and crept up those ancient oak stairs. They did not attempt to stop him. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_bbp_topic_count":0,"_bbp_reply_count":0,"_bbp_total_topic_count":0,"_bbp_total_reply_count":0,"_bbp_voice_count":0,"_bbp_anonymous_reply_count":0,"_bbp_topic_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_reply_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_forum_subforum_count":0,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[347,88],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2685","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-horror-contest-2014","category-horror"],"aioseo_notices":[],"amp_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2685","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2685"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2685\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2686,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2685\/revisions\/2686"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2685"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2685"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2685"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}