The Following are Some Original Stories from my book "The Monster Is Out There Still" now available on Amazon and its affiliate book sellers.

Scary Stories

By, Clayton Overstreet

Angel Face

You know that old graveyard? The one with all the crypts and statues? Well you know that big marble angel?

A few years ago some kids were playing around there on Halloween night. They were climbing on the gravestones and one of them named Rose decided to climb up the angel's back and ride it like she was getting a piggyback. Only I guess the neck was damaged or something because when she grabbed it she fell off and realized the head had popped right off the statue.

"You should take it home and keep it," one of the others told Rose.

And she did. She placed it on her dresser between her television and her homework pile. Later that night after Rose crawled into bed she had a dream. Someone was shouting, "Give me back my head! I can't guard the dead if I do not have a head!" She woke up in a cold sweat. But then the night was quiet and she decided to go back to sleep.

Only it happened again. "Give me back my head! I can't guard the dead if I do not have a head!" She woke up with a scream as she felt something touch her shoulder.

The next night the same thing happened. Deciding it must be a guilty conscience she took the head downstairs and threw it in the trash. But when Rose went back upstairs and fell asleep she had the dream. Again and again.

The next morning she tried to retrieve the head, but her father had already taken out the trash and when she checked the garbage men had hauled it away. That night she had the dream again and the voice sounded much closer. Like it was talking right in her ear. She felt cold hard fingers in her hair.

Rose went to school and told her friends what had happened. They said she just needed to calm down. It was just a statue. But for a third and fourth and then fifth night in a row she got no sleep and went to confess to her parents. Her mother took her to the doctor who prescribed some very strong sleeping pills.

That night she did not wake up screaming. She did not wake up at all. Though there was some shrieking of pure terror when her parents found Rose the next morning. Because when they opened her door they found her lying peacefully in her bed. Well… most of her.

The girl's head was missing. Her neck skin twisted like a candy wrapper and her bones cracked, as if someone had twisted her head right off. The blood had soaked into the blankets and pillows, the walls, ceiling, and floor. Rose did not look like she had put up a struggle. Her otherwise undisturbed body lay curled up under her blankets. The pills she had taken mercifully keeping her unconscious during the attack. She must have slept right through it.

It was a terrible scene. A gruesome crime that has still never been officially solved to this day. What kind of monster would do that? What could? Just twist a girl's head right off her body without any sign that they had so much as disturbed the blankets in her bed.
That was not the worst of it. There were two things far more disturbing than a mere headless young woman's mutilated corpse. First in the room there against one wall the police noticed in the blood splatter. The girl's neck must have gushed like a fountain because it had sprayed the whole room. The whole room except for a clean silhouette on the wall closest to her bed. It looked like a human figure, except it was missing a head and had what looked like a pair of massive wings. Almost a disfigured snow angel outlined in the crimson spray

The police searched and never found the killer or her head. The family eventually had to bury her and at the graveyard they would soon see something far more unsettling. They had a family plot right out in the same cemetery where Rose claimed to have stolen the statue's head.

It must have been a mistake, maybe part of the dream and the result of her lack of sleep. Despite her friends insistence that it was true.

Because when they had the funeral her parents and friends noticed that the statue was there and undamaged. Not a sign it had ever been scratched let alone ripped from the statue. Even the moss seemed undisturbed. Standing tall over the mourners. The head firmly in place.

"Maybe someone found it in the trash and put it back," someone suggested.

Only one of her friends went around the front and peered up at it. Then gasped. "Oh my god, you all have to look at this."

Rose's friends and family stepped from around the casket and stared. The girl's mother screamed and tears welled from her eyes. Who could blame her? After all that unmistakably was her daughter's face, carved in stone, smiling down at her from the angel's winged shoulders.

Smile

Mr. Bryson was a strange teacher. A good one, nobody had any complaints. Handsome too. Tall and good looking with muscles and a handsome face. But strange. Oh he showed his face, but he never showed his teeth when he smiled and seemed to be licking behind his lips with his tongue pushing against them. Every time he spoke he seemed to face away or put something in front of his mouth. Lecturing from behind books or when he faced the chalkboard.

Linda was a good student, but she noticed things. Maybe she had a little crush on him too. Either way small things caught her attention. Like how sometimes when he passed by he smelled like nail polish, though his fingers were usually just trimmed. She had seen polish on his desk a few times. A bottle of white that she could see went down from time to time and then was replaced with a new one. As if he was painting his nails every day. Except he was not.

She wondered if he did his toes. She had an uncle who had become her aunt. Was Mr. Bryson a cross dresser or transgender? Was he hiding lipstick either on his mouth or maybe on his teeth?

Linda had no problem with that, but she was curious. She even asked him about why he hid his mouth all the time, after everyone else left class. He said, "When I was young it turned out I had a condition. I would lose a baby tooth but a new one would not grow in. I got teased and bullied a lot. Even beat up. Some kids hit me trying to knock out more teeth so they could see.

"We were poor but my daddy was a medicine man out in the swamps where we grew up. Lots of family had a similar problem. We couldn't afford a dentist or anything like that, so we found a work around. It helped me replace my teeth, but it still looks strange, so I keep it to myself."

"I didn't mean to pry," she said, lying a bit.

She was still curious and she kept noticing the nail polish smell and everything and she got curious. One day at the end of school it was hot and there was little studying to be done. Mr. Bryson sent everyone outside the play. Linda saw through the class window as he lay back with a book over his face to take a nap in the chair behind his desk.

Unable to contain her inquisitiveness she snuck back into the class. She had to know what his teeth looked like. Was he telling the truth? Was he hiding lipstick? Maybe she could even, she thought with a blush, sneak a little kiss.

She tiptoed in as the sounds of children playing drifted in from outside and went over to where he laid, chest rising and falling. Gently she lifted the book and was relieved when he did not twitch awake. Enjoying the room's air conditioning on the hot day. His lips were lipstick free and looked very kissable to the young lady, parted just a little as he breathed.

Linda leaned in and was about to kiss him when she caught a glimpse inside. At first she was not sure what was wrong. She could see nice white teeth peeking through his lips. All in a neat row. Then it looked like maybe he had swollen gums. And they seemed so tiny. Almost like baby teeth.

Kiss forgotten she reached up and gently tugged down his lip with a fingertip. She almost screamed right then and there.

Those were not teeth. She saw neat rows of white things almost the same shape, but she realized they were not actually teeth. They were fingernails. Each painted white. Still attached to fingertips. Not a full grown man's, but small ones. Like those of young children. Each poking out of his gums in two neat rows. They were not just stuck in place either. They wiggled just a little and she realized that it had not been his tongue moving behind his lips all those times he smiled at all. Near the back was one gaping hole, as if from a recently removed molar or maybe a wisdom tooth.

Something moved and she looked up into his open eyes. With a squeal she backed up and fell across the desk.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said, the sight of his mouth moving over those painted nails sending a wave of nausea through Linda as he grabbed her arm. She screamed, but with the kids playing outside it was one of many as his other hand clapped over her mouth. "You were always one of my favorite students Linda. Too bad. I guess I'll have to move on again. I'll miss you and all the other kids. But don't worry; I'll always have something to remember you by." Pressing her back into the desk he gripped her arm and she watched in wide eyed panic as he slammed her hand back onto the paper cutter raising up the sliding blade, forcing her hand over to the line.

When the kids came in after the bell rang they did not find Mr. Bryson and eventually someone noticed Linda was missing too. But there was blood on the desk. They went and got help and soon they found the girl at least, in the supply closet unconscious.

"What happened to her hand?" Someone asked when they saw that the tip of her little finger on her left hand was missing, bleeding all over the bottom of the closet.

A Terrible Wife And A Horrible Mother

Kayla's son Toby started going crazy one day. He swore that there was something in mirrors that was trying to get out and get him. "They crawl out and take your place and push you back into the mirror. You can tell because there's something wrong with them. Just little things, but you can notice if you check." He would scream and fight if anyone tried to get him to go into the bathroom until his parents took the mirror out. Even then he went in with electrical tape and covered all the shiny surfaces like the faucet. When he went to school he was caught peeing outside several times refusing to enter any bathroom or class with a mirror.

Finally they had to send him to an upstate mental facility where, less than two days in, he had to be put into isolation. If anyone brought a mirror close he would become panicked and even violent. They had to put him in a straight jacket and keep him in a rubber room.

Soon his father Ted became frustrated as Toby refused to even speak to him, but Kayla would visit at least once a week. However when she came every time he would just glare at her with his ice-blue eyes and say, "You are a terrible wife and a horrible mother."

One day she just broke into tears and shouted back. "Why? What makes you think I'm so awful? Honey, you're scaring everyone. You are here because we're worried about you. I don't know what I did to make you like this, but please tell me and maybe the doctors could help you. I am just trying to do what's best for you."

He told her calmly, "You didn't do anything to cause this mom. This isn't your fault. Actually I feel very safe in here and I do not want to leave. But you are still a terrible wife and a horrible mother."
"Why?" She pleaded. "I just want to understand."

He leaned in and whispered in her ear.

A few moments later she ran out of the hospital and saw her husband waiting for her by the car. Ted opened the door for her and got into the driver's seat. He noticed a far away look on her eyes as Kayla kept staring at the road. "Something wrong sweetie?"

"No, I'm fine." But as they went she seemed to get more and more agitated.

When they got home Kayla walked inside and stopped to stare at the wall where so many of their family photos were hung up. It seemed like every time she saw those ice blue eyes of her son they got colder and colder, looking back at her from the pictures accusingly. She looked at them and began shaking and sobbing. It got worse until her husband came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. Kayla turned and through her tears she looked up into his comforting brown eyes as he stroked her hair.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

She wanted to answer, but the words choked in her throat. She just kept staring up at him, shaking and with tears streaming down her cheeks. Finally she croaked, "I really am a terrible wife and a horrible mother."

He looked confused. "Why?"

She almost answered but again was unable to say anything. Kayla felt a scream building. She was cracking and soon she was going to start shrieking and never, ever stop. All the while that last sentence her son had said before she left the facility repeating in her mind over and over again.

"Weren't dad's eyes the same color as mine?"

"Am I still pretty?"

I find myself alone in the dark, under a single yellow streetlight,

Walking home from the library on a warm and cloudy night.

I watch her approach, skin as smooth as silk and pale as the dead,

A sultry figure stepping forth, dressed entirely in red.

Beauty peeking out from behind a medical mask,

Her eyes meet mine and I see there is a question that she wants to ask.

"Do you think I am pretty?" she says, sounding sly as any sphinx.

I look her up and down, trying to decide my answer, unsure of what to think.

I have heard of her before, but I can hardly believe that the stories are all true,

Sure the tales cannot be real I answer honestly, "I absolutely do."

She smiles and reaches up to pull the mask aside,

I freeze in place and gaze upon her face trying not to cry.

"Am I still pretty?" She asks again, her smile spreading far too wide.

Ear to ear, side to side, no longer having anywhere to hide.

She was gorgeous once I know and can see, around the spreading gash.

Only now it is marred beyond repair, by a tortured crimson slash.

I want to hug her and tell her everything will be alright,

I also want to turn and run away until I am safely hidden from her sight.

The madness in her eyes says that neither is a choice.

A blade appears in her hand and I find I have lost my voice.

The shiny steel is my whole world now, reflecting back my face.

I cannot look aside or flee, even as my heart begins to race.

Some time later we part and I continue on the path to home,

I step across the threshold, sliced down to the bone.

My parents are sitting there, staying up to wait.

They plan to chastise me thoroughly, for coming home so late.

My father sees me first and looks on with horror, pain, and pity in his eyes,

While my mother screams until she is out of breath,

Body shaking still wracked with more silent broken hearted cries.

I feel the tears begin to fall and they sting against my cheek,

As in despair I force myself to ignore the agony and speak.

Ruby drops spill from me as if from a gushing oil well,

My reopened wounds burning like the fires of the very pits of Hell.

All I can do is let the fresh cut split and dried fluids once again begin to leak,

Asking the question whose answer I already know will not be the one I seek.

They can tell that I am not smiling no matter how wide appears my grin,

My blouse a spreading scarlet stain from the river bubbling down my blood encrusted chin.

"Am I still pretty?"

The Bear

Two girls, Tanya and Lisa, went out to the woods to make out, holding hands as they slipped away from everyone by the campfire. They walked into the woods and then were surprised as they came across the body of a dead grizzly bear. It must have been ten feet tall with huge claws. The idea of something so huge and dangerous in the woods, not that far from where they were camping made them both pale as the blood drained from their faces and they huddled close, clutching each other and scanning the trees, on the look out for another.

Tanya leaned forward noting the fresh blood still pumping and the large sharp fang sticking out of it bigger than her hand. She whispered, "Lisa, what do you think could have possibly bitten its head off like that?"

Lisa had no idea. The head was roughly severed and they could see a tooth, pointed and serrated like a shark's about the side of a human hand, embedded in the chunk of spine. The stump of the neck was still bleeding, the wound fresh as if it only just happened.

Before she could think of a response both girls froze, wide eyed and skin crawling with a chill, as they heard something moving in the bushes right behind them…

The Hole In The Sand

They say this happens on the beach but some say it can also happen in a sandbox at the playground or even on a volleyball court. Anyplace you find sand. A hole appears. Not a deep one. No mysterious hole to China. Usually just a couple feet wide and about three times as deep. The story is much the same each time.

Eugene lived in a cul-de-sac. A nice little neighborhood in a gated community where they built a playground on a roundabout to keep people from speeding and provide children with a place to play in full view of the houses. A curvy rightly colored play-place in the middle of a lot of fresh white sand.

He headed out to play one morning and noticed that somebody had dug a hole. About two feet wide and four feet deep. He could have dug it himself with a bucket and scoop. Except the sand was dry and really should not have held a shape like a hole so well.

Like any kid he did what came naturally and immediately ducked in the hole, sitting down in the bottom to hide and see if his mother or anybody noticed. Sure enough after a few minutes she did, peering out the window to check on him. She immediately went to the door and called his name. "Eugene!" She saw head pop out like a big gopher, grinning. "Get out of that hole. Did you dig that?" He shook his head and climbed out, trailing sand. It fell off him with every movement and she frowned. "Well get over here and clean that stuff off. You'll get a rash." He nodded and headed right for her. "Wait a minute, get on the lawn. I need to hose you down. No way are you tracking all that inside onto the carpet." He did as he was told and she got the garden hose.

When she turned it on she adjusted the nozzle and at first a fine spray came out. She had been using it earlier to water the lawn. It misted the boy who giggled as water began to drip down him, taking some of the sand with it.

She adjusted the spray to a steady stream. Still smiling he raised a hand to block it.

To his mother's horror Eugene's hand almost immediately melted. Then when it was out of the way the stream of water hit his face. Screaming his mother turned the hose off and then walked over to where her son had been.

All that was left was a pile of wet sand.

Sometimes you play with the sand. Sometimes the sand plays with you.

Short But Scary Stories

The bogeyman cannot get you if you hide under the blankets. That does not stop him from adjusting the thermostat.

Because of some last minute preparations I was fifteen minutes late for the funeral. I apologized profusely to everyone and hurried up front where I got right back in the coffin, but I think I may have ruined the mood.

We got the body out and the house collapsed. Turns out it was a load bearing corpse.

They say cats have nine lives, but I think that is just a superstition. This is the twelfth time I have buried him.

They followed the monster's tracks right to my house. Thankfully they just asked me to join in hunting it and not to take off my boots.

I have the worst roommate in history. I'd tell him so if he would just take that pillow off of my face.

My husband was a dear and reached down the sink to help get back my wedding ring that I had dropped. He probably would not have if he knew that I knew about Candy or why I was standing next to the switch for the garbage disposal.

If you liked these buy my book "The Monster Is Out There Still" or "Queer Creatures" both of which are on Amazon with many, many others.