The 50 Word O’Henry Contest
Announcing James Dillingham Young Award: We love the 50 Word Horror Contest because the stories always turn out so wonderful. They have great plots, creepy character, monsters, things that make you want to read them. Having a Christmas story contest doesn’t always go the same way. Honestly most of the stories turn out kinda bland….
To that end, instead of having a Christmas contest, we are having an O’Henry contest. O’Henry wrote so many twist stories. Think “Gift of the Magi,” that’s what we are looking for in 50 words. We are looking for stories with a twist. It can be scary, uplifting, funny, anything as long as it has a twist. If they have a little bit of a Christmas flare that might help, but it is not required.
The deadline for these stories will be December 20, 2016. We will do our movie and a chat on December 23. I know this is the busiest time of year for everyone, but if you win you will be buying yourself $1000 in ads and promos on our site.
Rules:
Story must have a twist and can be in any genre
It must be 50 words or under
Deadline is December 21
Must be posted in the comments
If you win this you will be the title holder of the EWR: James Dillingham Young Award. This way you can tell your friends, or stick it in your bio.
Good luck!
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INTERVIEW WITH A SCREAM QUEEN
The interview was not going well.
“Why the fuck are you turning blue?” I screamed.
“Are my hands too tight?”
No answer.
“Should I stop choking you?”
Another no answer.
That was Strike Three. She hadn’t answered any of my questions.
I ended the interview with a harsh unforgiving snap.
The Experiment
I am a fighting machine, comprised of humans & animals DNA. I escaped, overthrowing their DNA replication plans.
My freedom reveals what testing did not. I am flawed.I kill everyone that comes near me. Tonight, I blow up the facility that created me and their creation.
A lovely night, so warm and the air cool on our faces. “Let’s go down to the sea. We’ll sit by the shore and listen to the waves crash in. I’ll feed you grapes.”
“All right”, gargled the smiling head, dripping crimson blood as I carried it toward the ocean.
Running. Running for my very life. Legs pumping, sweat dripping, lungs burning…
The adrenaline rush cannot last much longer. Already I can feel the beginning of fatigue coming on and darkness is threatening to overcome my sight.
Yet it keeps coming. Relentless. Determined. I am the prey….
Darkness.
Freezing, crackling ice crushed under my high heels as I ran, grasping my red skirt, with matching red nails. “Dress to Kill,” appropriate. Ice whizzed by. Too close. Our plan: Quinn, fighting along, happily looking for a hiding place: his birthday/Christmas Snow in FL party: Success.
“Grandma was superstitious -believed in Voodoo … the Boogeyman- but I wasn’t scared of spooks in boots.”
Years later:
“Daddy!!! I heard Grandma walking down the hall!”
“Ridiculous!” He scornfully scolded me.
But I saw that anger masked the fear of his mother’s dead footsteps. She should have worn combat shoes.
She walked into a dark room only to find herself alone and wondering, then she heard a loud screaching noise.
“You called us ‘mean’, ‘scary’ and ‘ugly’. That hurts our feelings! We can’t help how we look, that’s just how we were born. We’re not there to bother you or scare you, we just live there.”
-From the monsters under your bed.
Dandelion Tribulation
The magician thumbed the dandelion inside his tattered cloak and rubbed out the bruises. With a controlled exhale, he revealed it to the crowd! The flower danced, glided in the naked air; emotions swelled with delight. He whispered sweet incantations, it swirled into a balloon and carried the children away.
My wife went blind at 30. There were so many challenges at first. The dressing, the feeding, the chauffeuring, making sure the grave remains hidden, the hours of voice training to sound just like her late husband. Still, I don’t mind. Good women, even blind ones, are hard to find.
I miss her most nights.
I thought i would forget, the thrill would have never lasted,it was fate.
I roll around in bed, unable to sleep, then i reach over to my nightstand, pick up the worn knuckle bone and clutch it in my hand, maybe now i can.
THE HAND THAT WIELDS
It’s not the blade. Any vagabond can cut. Severe. Slice and dice.
My commitment is to craftsmanship.
Whereupon they look, and looking see, not a fillet, but a work of art. Crimson on cobblestone, a masterpiece writ in blood.
I am a clever knave, my dear, ripping through darkest night.
My heart has memorized his beautiful face, the innocent blue in his eyes.
When he comes, my heart twitters, sings ballads, makes sweet melodies. I am so deeply in love.
He speaks his love for me in three little words.
In return, I offer him three more:
“I hate you.”
I’m drunkenly leaning over the kitchen sink devouring a cold slice of pizza in the dark and thinking about the girl I wanted to screw after the funeral. The only pussy I’m getting today is my wife’s cat rubbing his face against my swollen knuckles. Happy 50th to me.
A Good Mother
I took Cassandra to visit her mom. She always brought toys so we could all have fun. After playing, we practiced reciting the alphabet.
“You were always the better teacher,” I said to her.
Cassandra’s little finger traced the chiseled letters on the grave as she sounded out each word.
We wander, hand in hand, threading our way through the long grass. Watched by dead eyes.
Among the mossy tombstones, shadows flit. Like ravens. You tug at my hand eager to be free.
A bedraggled child appears, beckoning, enticing you.
It is time to let you go. My soul mate.
Samantha was hired to write for a newspaper. Unemployed for the last eight months, she was depressed. I wanted to surprise her.
“I brought you a present,” I say, walking in her office.
She spins around in her rolling desk chair, yelling, “I get to wear pantsuits every day!”
I whir back, rewind. Watch her dance again; blue-green dress spinning. Watch it again. And again. Envying her movement. I want.
Footsteps shatter my concentration, energy flagging. I pause, wait. Hands touch me, lift me.
I’m moving.
Finally.
“What’s this old camera doing here?” the man asks, and switches me—
Tower
The imported deck chairs have not arrived, but renovations to the courtyard balcony continue as planned. The peasants will be allowed their semi-annual festival. They must be watched carefully and protected from themselves.
Hordes are approaching from all directions with no signs of turning back. They are right on schedule.
Bedroom—He’s been woken by a sharp noise. He looks at his wife: sleeping. “Surely, it was behind the door, as if something broke,” he grumbles. He gets up, opens the door, and goes into kitchen. “I can see you,” he whispers with a trembled voice. ”Sure you can, honey.”
Hello Every Writer:
Were decisions made for the O.Henry Contest? I couldn’t join in the movie/chat this time.
Thanks!
JR
Yes, the winner is David L Tamarin: Interview with a Scream Queen.
There will be a post about this shortly. We started to run the movie night but no one showed, so the plug was pulled.
Excellent, thank you so much, I am honored!
David, we’ve had sent details to your email. Please check it. We would like to make the announcement very soon….
Congrats, David!
All new contest……https://www.everywritersresource.com/1st-annual-justine-moritz-50-word-contest/