Some stories take pages to send a shiver down your spine. Others need just two sentences. Our annual
Two-Sentence Horror Story contest brought out the best of Charlottesville’s worst nightmares, and these
winning entries prove that sometimes, less is terrifyingly more. Read on…if you dare. (And catch Live Arts actors bringing our favorites to life on social media!)
First place
It is said that the first meal of the day is most important. But sometimes the villagers don’t choose a child for the woods till near noon.—Steve Russell
Runners up
The first day at my new job had gone well: Everyone was pleasant, welcoming, and just a little quiet. Alone at my desk and ready for home, I watched the lights overhead dim automatically as I clumsily rummaged through a cluttered top drawer searching for my keys, and found only a collection of loose teeth.—Kurt Keesecker
Lettie drug the old wood chair Nannie always set in for meals across the dusty floor until it was right under the spinning fan. The rope was gonna be just long enough.—Holly Olinger
As the clown approached the festive Colonial house, he recited his employer’s single and simple job requirement: Knock them dead. He pulled out his sledgehammer and entered the party.—Vicki Williams
I brushed off Granny’s neglected old China doll and muttered, “You just needed a little dusting off, didn’t you?” The doll cocked her head and flapped her jaw saying, “What I really need is for you to get me the hell OUT of here!”—Sandy McGinnis
She woke to the acrid smell of burning flesh. In the darkness, she struggled against restraints as echoing chants grew near.—Lois Holden
It was an elbow. Just an elbow.—Sara M. Robinson
Bursting into the morgue, the funeral director gasped, “The widow is furious her dead husband is not immaculately dressed like the gentleman there on the slab, and the wake begins in five minutes!” “No time to change the clothes,” replied the mortician slyly, “so simply swap the heads.”—Michael Belcher
Frankie smiled at me like he had a million times before, but there was something … off. That grin lacked joy, lacked any warmth at all, and as I saw between his lips the sharp tip of a pointed tooth and an impossibly forked tongue, I knew it for sure: This thing was not my brother.—Justin Vesser
“And I know they will never find you, love,” she sneered, settling her boot on my outstretched hand. “Because if they ever did, what would be left to be found?”—Dana Fusco
