Category: Indie Horror Creation

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4 5 7 B E F H I O P S T V

Sobriety

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Featured Indie Horror Creation Indie horror writers Short Horror Stories

The funeral was over and Annie hesitated at the front door of her home. The ominous presence of sadness, despair, and loneliness draped over her like a heavy coat. Her trembling hand reached the knob and opened it. This was the part she dreaded; the part no preacher or sermon ever prepared her for. No more hearing Jason’s voice calling in the living room, “Annie, is that you?” No more watching how graceful he was when he poured her a cup of coffee in the morning. 

Jason wouldn’t be there to roll over in his sleep and drape an arm across her. He wouldn’t be there to hold her when life’s burden’s came crashing down. He wouldn’t be there to lower her on the bed and make love to her. All that was left when someone lies six feet deep were the haunting memories of past ghosts. 

“It’s all on the video.” 

That’s what the note said. The one she found stuffed in her coffee mug the day Jason died. His phone was left on the counter, unlocked, and with a paused video. It beckoned her to watch it. 

She still remembered the curiosity and confusion swirling in her mind when she hit “play.” 

Jason sat at his study in the upstairs loft. An emotionless, numb look covered his face. His eyes seemed lifeless and hollow and his voice was absent of any emotion. Jason stared at the camera and said,

“At first, I liked being sober. I thought I had my life back. I liked everything I learned in rehab, and when I got out, I was ready for this great life of sobriety that they told us lies ahead.” 

Jason paused, glanced down for a moment, then back at the camera. 

“Things were supposed to get better,” he said. He interlocked his hands and leaned on the desk. “Jobs, relationships, opportunities. Being sober was supposed to open up a whole new world of possibilities.” 

Jason looked down again for several seconds. He cleared his throat, wiped a tear, then interlocked his fingers again. “But they were wrong, Annie. They were all wrong. 

Being sober hasn’t changed anything. Life hasn’t gotten better and…” he swallowed hard then raked his fingers down his face. “The only thing that has happened? I can feel again. My emotions aren’t crippled by the alcohol.”

Jason stared off to his left. “And that’s the worse part. The feelings. The guilt and shame over what I’ve done in my addiction. The depression. The sorrow. Where is the joy they promised, Annie? ” He stared back at the camera. “They said, ‘Oh, Jason, life will be wonderful again. You will feel everything!’ Well, fuck them. I can feel everything and I fucking hate it. I fucking hate it, Annie! I can’t live with the emotions anymore, Annie. Nor can I go back to my addiction.” Jason looked back at the camera with a blank stare. “I liked being numb. And you know what I discovered? It’s me. I don’t like feeling me.  I’m being swallowed alive by my soul. It is a black hole and I can’t escape. Tell them bye for me, Annie. Tell them all goodbye and happy Halloween. “

Jason reached his hand down, opened the desk drawer, and pulled out a .45. He stuck the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The gun blast crackled through the phone. Jason’s skull and brains decorated the window behind him. 

Annie remembered these things before she stepped foot back into their home, and hoped the .45 was still in the desk drawer. 

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The Indie Horror Creation Process: Scare Me (2020) & Make Cool Sh!t

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Featured Indie Horror Indie Horror Creation Indie horror film makers

While some of us were wondering when we’d be able to get our next haircut, Josh Ruben (indie horror creator/director/actor of Scare Me) and Aaron Kheifets (host of Make Cool Sh!t) were immersed in getting new eyes on indie horror-comedy Scare Me (2020). When considering the classic horror comedies, such as The Evil Dead (1981), Little Shop of Horrors (1986), Gremlins (1984), or even newer films like Jennifer’s Body (2009), Tucker and Dale vs. Evil (2010), and The Babysitter (2017) we see that there are consistent themes present—demons, aliens, or in the case of Tucker and Dale, stupid teenagers. These movies tend to take serious horror topics and spoof them, but in a legitimate way that eases us into scary themes through a variety of comedy tropes.

Scare Me (2020), a movie that defies the genre in every other way fits into this trend as well. Josh Ruben took a simple concept and created a film that is not only hilarious and over-the-top (in the best way possible), but is also chilling in its commentary on an issue that remains a hot-button issue in our culture.

This movie is a perfect mix of comedy actors who just so happen to capture horror with ease; Josh Ruben (of CollegeHumor), Aya Cash (of You’re the Worst), Chris Redd (of SNL), and Rebecca Drysdale (of Becks) are all the movie needs. The small cast created a somewhat claustrophobic atmosphere that allowed us to suspend judgment as we waited to see what happened next. What we got, was a literary adventure with a dark realistic twist.

The Horror of the #MeToo Movement

As a woman in an industry that portrays women as victims or sexual objects, this movie was refreshing. The lead female character is not only intelligent and hilarious but also successful without needing to be hypersexualized. Josh wrote this movie at the height of the #MeToo movement; he pulled his inspiration from women in his life who had experienced trauma at the hands of men.

What emerged from that trauma and feminine nightmare was a horror-comedy that (perhaps) unwittingly showcases what it’s like to be made into a victim, where a woman might otherwise have been an independent and strong character. The movie cut my safety net and plopped me into a dark alley with a creepy guy with bad intentions.

While some men might not be able to appreciate this movie for the horrific scenario that it is, it’s likely that any woman who watches this will be able to relate in some way. I can honestly say that this movie hit all of its promised marks—it made me laugh (hard), but it also terrified and left me with anxiety that lingered far longer than anything else I’ve seen recently. If you’re still wondering whether or not you should watch this movie (you can find it on Shudder or YouTube), just watch it. It’s a perfect representative of horror-comedy.

Make Cool Sh!t – A Journey Through Indie Horror Creation

While Josh Ruben was busy at work directing and acting in his first feature film, the producers of Make Cool Sh!t were busy bursting in on actors at comically inopportune moments to try to capture the grit of creating an indie horror film. If you’re an indie creator thinking of making a movie, I highly recommend this podcast—you’ll find it to be an invaluable resource of information on what to do next.

Aaron Kheifets wasn’t on the set during filming, but he became the voice of the process; his insights on it are invaluable even if he balks at the idea. After all, he earned a Ph.D. in Cognitive Psychology then broke the news to his mother that he was going to be a comedian. I would say he has more insight into human psychology than he gives himself credit for.

Using Kheifets, a longtime associate of Ruben, as the voice of the podcast was an excellent choice. He brought personal touches and academic cognizance of issues that an audience might not otherwise understand. For those of us who foresee our futures in the horror industry, we look at an undertaking like Scare Me and hope that one day it will be within our grasp as well. Josh Ruben showed us that hoping for our big break is unproductive and counterintuitive. You might as well be sitting in the dark and trying to read Homer’s Odyssey.

If you want to be successful, you have to put in the work; being discovered happens so rarely and as we see in Scare Me, entitlement doesn’t pay off. Ruben showed us that it’s difficult but unavoidable (and worth it!) if we truly want to make it happen.

Behind the Minds of Indie Horror – Let’s Talk Indie Horror

I interviewed both Josh Ruben and Aaron Kheifets in regards to their work on Scare Me and Make Cool Sh!t. It was an eye-opening experience where I was given an opportunity to pick the brains of some really talented individuals. They gave me some really honest answers to some really difficult questions. It showed me that they were more than just actors, or characters. They were human.

So, if you have a chance to watch the interview I conducted with them, check it out! It’s some pretty insightful stuff and I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed talking to them. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

If you’ve already seen Scare Me, then let me know what you thought of it in the comments below!

Also, check out this article on How to Write and Promote Your Indie Horror!

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The Midnight Mimic – A Short Scary Story

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Best Of Featured Indie Horror Creation Indie horror writers
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In the small town of Black Butte, nestled between twisted pines and winding rivers, a legend whispered in the chilling night breeze. A black cat, with eyes as dark as the abyss, roamed the quiet trails. This cat was no ordinary feline; it was a harbinger of terror, a creature that hungered for more than just mice.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the streets emptied, and the townsfolk locked their doors. It was then that the black cat emerged from the shadows. Silent as a wraith, it slinked through the darkness, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural hunger.

The first victim, a weary traveler named Samuel, felt the cat’s icy gaze upon him as he navigated the dimly lit streets. Footsteps quickened, but no matter how fast he moved, the cat followed, its obsidian form weaving through the night like a wisp of malevolence.

As the clock struck midnight, the cat pounced, its fangs sinking into Samuel’s flesh. A guttural scream pierced the stillness, but it was soon replaced by an eerie silence. The cat, now sated, melded seamlessly into the shadows.

As dawn painted the sky in hues of orange, the black cat transformed into a perfect replica of Samuel. A doppelganger, complete with his memories, quirks, and secrets. The mimicry was so flawless that even Samuel’s closest friends couldn’t discern the imposter.

For a day, the cat walked among the townsfolk, wearing the borrowed skin of its victim. It played its role with unsettling precision, attending events, chatting amicably at the Aspn lounge, and even sharing meals with Samuel’s family. The mimicry was so convincing that no one suspected the ghastly truth beneath the facade.

When night fell again, the black cat shed its borrowed identity like a snake shedding its skin. The process was gruesome, a grotesque transformation that left behind the lifeless shell of its former prey. The cat, now hungry for another taste, set its sights on a new victim.

Fear spread through Black Butte like a contagion. Whispers of the midnight mimic echoed through the once-cozy town, and every black cat became a harbinger of dread. No one knew who would be the next target, and the once-tranquil streets now harbored a lurking terror that stalked its prey under the veil of night.

The legend of the black cat persisted, a ghastly tale told in hushed tones by those who dared to wander the streets after dark. Black Butte, once a haven of peace, became a town haunted by the ghostly specter of the midnight mimic, a creature that hungered for the essence of humanity, leaving only echoes of the lives it devoured.

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The Paranormal Journal of Ezekiel Kincaid Entry 3: Brandon

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Featured Indie Horror Indie horror writers Short Horror Stories
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I had just settled down for the night with a good book and a bottle of whiskey. The paperback I was reading was from 1987–C. Dean Anderson’s Torture Tomb. The cover had appealed to me so I snatched it up at a thrift store. I nestled into my recliner, flipped it open to the beginning, and started reading. 

Then there was a knock on my door. 

“Unbelievable. Every freaking time.” I grabbed my phone off the stand next to me. “Ten thirty at night?” I always kept my Glock 19 with me so I swiped it off the stand and pulled on the slide, easing a bullet into the chamber. 

I rolled out of my chair and crept to the door. 

There  was a knock again. 

I turned the deadbolt then got in a shooting stance. “Come in,” I said. “It’s open.” 

The knob turned and I moved my finger to the trigger. 

The door opened and I recognized the face. I wanted to pull the trigger. Not out of fear or a threat, but out of anger. 

“Mr. Kincaid,” the man said. “You have to stop. I’m begging you. I can’t take it anymore.”

The man was Brandon. He looked like crap. His complexion was pale and he had a bruise on his cheek. He wore a gray, stained sweat suit and was clutching at his stomach. 

“You got about two seconds to turn around before I either put a bullet in your knee cap or smash your teeth out with the butt of my gun. I haven’t decided which yet.” 

Brandon’s eyes bulged then grew wet with tears. His lips trembled and he stammered. “Ppppplease. Mr. Kincaid. You have to stop. I can’t–” He hung his head and sobbed. 

I lowered my gun. “Stop? Stop?” I let out a mocking laugh. “You think I am going to stop? After you pulled a gun on your own wife? My little sister? Whom I love with all my heart? And after you threatened to throw your own kid out a window? Oh no, Brandon. I won’t ever stop till I cripple you.” 

Brandon sobbed harder.

“You know what your problem is Brandon,” I asked.

He responded with more tears.

“You are a coward. You’re an abusive bully who cries and throws temper tantrums because he doesn’t get his way. And you won’t ever quit.”

Brandon lifted his head and gazed into my eyes. He knew I was right. 

“I see everything you do. I know when you try to hurt her or threaten her. I saw what you tried to do today and I shut it down didn’t I? That box that flew across the room and knocked you out, leaving that bruise on your face? That was me.” I raised my gun again. 

“I know,” he mumbled. 

“Now, Brandon. You want me to stop? Then you leave. You get as far away from them as possible. You do that and I will stop. But if you stay? And if you ever, and I mean ever, so much as raise your voice at her or touch your kids in a threatening way, I will finish what I started today.” 

Brandon looked down at the ground and gave a slow, almost lifeless nod. 

“Now, get out of here. I was trying to read a book.” I slammed the door in his face then went and sat back down in my chair. I set my gun back on the nightstand and picked up my voice recorder. I turned it on and hit ‘record’. 

“Telekinesis,” I said. “It is a real and powerful phenomena. It can be dangerous, but I promise I will only use it to protect the ones I love.” 

I hit stop and set the recorder down. I uncorked the whiskey and took a swing straight from the bottle. I leaned up and placed it at the foot of my recliner. I picked up my paperback and read for the rest of the night.

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The Paranormal Journal of Ezekiel Kincaid Entry 4: Rachel’s Circle

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Featured Indie Horror Indie horror writers Short Horror Stories
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I’ve learned not to question when the dead come to me. Now, I welcome them and listen to
their tales. One such visitor was a young girl named Rachel. She wouldn’t tell me her last name, but she
did tell me what happened to her.
“Mr. Kincaid.”
I was taken out of my world of writing by a soft, sweet voice.
“Yes,” I was sitting on my bed with my computer in my lap. I glanced away from the screen and
saw her.
A young girl stood at the edge of my bed. She had short black hair, a pale complexion, and sleek
features. She looked to be around nineteen years old. She was soaking wet and naked. She covered her
chest with her arms and water dripped from her hair and body and puddled on my floor. She shivered
from the cold and swamp grass draped her skin in places. She smelled like the bayou—the bayou and
rot.
“I’m cold,” she said and chattered her teeth.
I studied the girl. Her lips were cracked and purple. “Come on,” I said and motioned with my
head. I pulled back the blanket.
The girl crawled in and covered herself. She curled up in a ball next to me and stared up with
green, solemn eyes.
“My name’s Rachel,” she said then swallowed. Her throat made a crackling sound. “And I need
your help.”
“Why?”
“I’m alone and afraid here.” Rachel sat up in the bed and wrapped the covers around her. “I—I
guess I should tell you what happened. Or, show you rather.” Rachel held out her hand to me, palm
upwards.

I lifted my hand from the keyboard in a slow, steady motion and placed it in hers. Rachel’s skin
was cold, wet, and clammy. I closed my eyes and was taken deep into a Louisiana swamp. I saw Rachel
kneeling in the middle of a protective circle she had drawn around herself with a knife in her hand. Her
voice narrated.
“I was being groomed to be a blood thorn witch. I was accepted into a coven and was taught the
old and ancient ways.”
Her naked body swayed, and a gentle breeze rippled her hair.
“I had already sliced my hand and given my blood to the keepers of the forest world. I had
studied Grimore and thought I could handle it.”
An owl screeched and landed on a branch above Rachel.
“A presence appeared in the circle. It was dark and menacing. It gave a low growl.
I saw an entity standing in the circle with Rachel. I had seen him and dealt with him many times
before. He was tall and skinny with red hair and pointy features. He wore a black suit and sunglasses. He
was a Leviathan demon and he goes by the name “The Philistine”.
“I gave myself to the god and goddess.”
I knew who they were. This god and goddess were just Leviathan and Lilith.
“The old ways either lead to madness, death, or a great poetic spirit. I think you can guess what
happened to me. I realized in those moments the circle of protection doesn’t work when you’ve already
invited it in.”
I saw Rachel take the blade of the knife and slice both her arms from wrist to forearm. The
copper scent of her warm blood filled the forest and she toppled to the ground. The Philistine stood
over her then he turned and saw me.
His features contorted and he grew angry. “You can’t help her,” he said. “I got to her first.” He
smirked then scooped Rachel’s body up and walked towards the swamp.
Rachel let go of my hand and I opened my eyes. She stared deep into me.
“I couldn’t find the light of God in life. Can you help me find it in death?” Rachel gazed at me
with a face pleading for hope.
I reached and grabbed my Bible off the floor and opened it to John chapter 1. I read to her. “In
the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the
beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made. In him
was life, and this life was the light of me. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not
overcome it.”
“Thank you,” Rachel smiled. She held out her arms, showed me her scars, then faded away.

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