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Romance Tragedy: “DON’T YOU DARE CRY FOR ME” | GBAMLOG 

Don’t You Dare Cry For Me

By Genesis

“Don’t you DARE cry for me. You understand me?” Liam took my chin in his hands. He stared into my eyes. He could tell that I want so badly to cry right in front of him. And yet, I couldn’t. I couldn’t because I knew if I did, he’d die hating me. I didn’t want him to leave me feeling the same way when we first met; angry and alone. I wanted Liam to leave me with happy thoughts. I want him to close his eyes forever with a smile spread across his face like peanut butter. I wanted Liam to die laughing so that his final memory before he leaves is us.

But in my mind, I knew this could never happen. I knew Liam could never be happy. I knew he could never die with happy thoughts. I knew he couldn’t die with a smile spread across his face like peanut butter. I knew he could never die laughing. I knew all this because he wasn’t the one dying.

I was.

I was the one lying in the hospital bed. I was the one who’d been stupid and gotten sick in Minnesota. I was the one who was gonna die angry and alone because I couldn’t help Liam. I couldn’t be there for him. I couldn’t make Liam happy. I couldn’t do anything anymore because I was the one who’d leave Liam the same way I found him; angry and alone. “I can’t promise you that, Liam. You know I can’t,” I turned my head away from Liam. I couldn’t let him see me. I couldn’t let him see me cry and yet, he squatted down next to me. He placed his calloused hand on my shoulder.

I shuddered at his touch. “Look at me. Lia. Look me in the eyes and tell me you won’t cry for me,” he told me not to cry for him. He told me to be brave and to look fear in the eyes and say “No.” Liam grabbed my chin once more and turned me to face him. “I’m sorry.”

Tears ran down my face. The salty tears stung my eyes. I could feel it in my nose and taste it on my tongue. My face was red and I’d felt flustered. My eyes were as red as an apple. My head was hot and it hurt to breathe. “I’m sorry, Liam. I really am. I’m so sorry…,” Liam tucked me away in his arms. I could feel his heart beating against my face. The reassuring thumps pounding from his chest calmed me down a bit. Enough for me to give Liam a chance to speak his feelings.

“Lia, did you know that when we first met in Minnesota, upon the waterfall, you were the first thing I saw? You were down in the stream while I was at the top. I was a pretty sad and lonely kid back then, so when I saw a face in the middle of the woods, I was shocked. I didn’t know anyone would be out there during the winter. But you were. You were there but… you were alone. You were alone in the middle of the woods clueless about the dangers of being in that scenario. And yet, you didn’t scream. You didn’t cry for your parents. You didn’t worry or panic at the time. Instead, you stayed calm.

“That’s why I don’t want you to cry for me. You can’t cry for me. Because I’d you do, I’ll cry too. I’m sorry, Lia that I couldn’t give you a happy life. I knew how you felt. I knew you were feeling miserable, but I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything. I let you fall and I left you there because I thought you were going to die. I didn’t want it to seem as though I killed you but, I guess in a way I did.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you in school when you were being bullied. I spent so much time focused on my life, I didn’t look into yours. When I first moved to New York, I didn’t know anyone. I had no friends or anyone I could talk to. You came to me looking to be my friend and I pushed you away. You asked me to the school dance a few times but I rejected you. You even asked me to join you and Kori every now and then but I shot you down. Then, when we went on the trip back to Wisconsin, I relived that moment when were kids and let you fall from the cliff.

“I made your life a living hell and all you did was care for me. When I found out who you were, it was too late. You were in the hospital and I had no idea. When I did learn of your condition, I came every day but you didn’t know because you’ve been in a coma.

“I know I’m not the best person in the world, but I’d like to try. I like to have a proper introduction with you. I want to dance with you every day. I want to go out with you and Kori and all of our friends. Maybe just you and me sometimes. I want to travel the world with you and protect you with my life. I want to be there for you. But the one thing I don’t want to do with you is cry. Because I know if we cry together, it means one of us is sad and I never want there to be a day when you’re sad. Never.

“I love you that much.”

“I love you so much. I don’t even care if you don’t love me back because the thought that you are even alive makes me happy. So please,”

Liam took my head in his hands and planted a kiss upon my lips…

“Open your eyes…”

…it didn’t matter, though…

“…for me…”

…because I couldn’t feel it…

“…please…”

…because I was dead.

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The Sweetest Surprise CHAPTER 1 | GBAMLOG 

Sweetest Surprise by Cane

There is an event being held at only one school, where once a year, all the lights in the city are turned off at night for a couple of minutes, and everyone is forced outside of their comfort zone. During this time, anyone can do anything to anybody without anyone finding out.

It’s 7 PM at the moment. The venue is gorgeous; the ceiling, pitch black with little blue bulbs which are lit up like stars. In the center, there is a huge chandelier that gives off a dull glow. Beautiful tables are scattered along the room,excluding the stage. Everything would have been perfect if my friends didn’t ditch me. Wonderful, right?

We girls are all wearing gowns or cocktail dresses, while the boys are dressed in expensive suits, with matching bow or ties. This night would go along much better if I had a date. Oh well, at least my best friend, Gail is happy; flirting with her so called boyfriend. She happily smiles at my direction as I walk over.

“Angelina, don’t give me that look, I’m sorry for not accompanying you,” she looks at me with pleading eyes. I roll mine at her.

“It’s okay, be happy with your boyfriend,” I say sarcastically, emphasizing the word ‘boyfriend’.

Suddenly, Gails boyfriend -Rease- contributes into the argument. “Are you jealous of Gail not being with you, or are you jealous of me being with her?” he mocks.

Once Rease started going out with Gail, he changed. We all know how terrifying it would be if she found out that Rease is going out with other girls. In short, he is afraid of my best friend. He is such a coward. I let out a smile, and remember that he had the nerve to tease me.

I stare, shooting daggers at him. Then he laughs. “Get out of here and get your own date, so you won’t be lonely anymore. And if you don’t find a date, I’m here. I can date two girls at the same time,” he chuckles and winks, as Gail slaps him on the shoulder playfully.

“If you dare to,” she starts. “Then I wouldn’t have a choice but to leave you dead cold in the middle of the street,” she grins then starts to laugh.

“No babe, we both know you won’t do that, you can’t resist me.” he pouts.”Aww, you’re so cute.” she leans into him giving him a peck on the lips. I jokingly cover my eyes at them being lovey in public place. I then slap the back of Rease’s head.

“Hey you two, no PDA here! God, you’re so embarrassing,” After my remark, they both laugh.

“You’re just jealous, admit it already,” he teases me again.

I sigh. “Okay okay, if that will make your mouth shut. I will leave you two now, it seems like you want me out of here anyway.” we laugh.

While I give them space, I walk to the catering and look at the food. As my eyes wander among the tables of entrees, my mouth starts to water. I decide to eat now, since there’s no way I would ask a guy:

“Would you be my date? Because I don’t have a date,”

That would never happen, it’s far too embarrassing. That’s why I should eat everything in plain sight. There is still is an hour before the party starts. I need to find my other friend, Russel. I cross my fingers, hoping he is still dateless.

“Hey there, Angel,” well, speaking of the devil. I smile as I turned around to see him.

“Hey-” I stop when I see him with a girl, and my smile turns into a frown.

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a date?” I raise my eyebrow as I question him. He’s with a girl who is quite pretty, wearing baby pink dress falling above knees, hugging the shape of her body matching her silver heart shaped necklace.

Surely, Russel knows how to pick a girl.

” I just met her, her name’s Trisha. Where is your date, Angel?” he asks me suspiciously.

I start panicking. “I don’t know, I think my prince’s late, well he didn’t really ask me I think. Okay I’m not going to lie, I need to find a date. What should I do Sel?” I whisper at him. I could tell he sees the fear in my face. as he looks at the students scattered around the venue, everyone seems to have a partner.

“Well good luck, Angel. You look beautiful tonight, I’m sure you’ll find your prince. Sorry I can’t be your partner,” he smiles and kisses me on the forehead. Well, my friend is naturally sweet.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks Russ, go enjoy your time with Trisha, she’s your date right?”

“If you need me I’m there,” he points to bar beside the cater. The bar has various types of drinks: pop, juice, and even tea.

“Ehem Ehem, mic test,” The principal says while holding the microphone, and standing is the small stage. “Our party is now starting!” All of the students scream happliy “Let’s start with my very long speech,”

We all grumble in unison, which made us all laugh, including the principal,

“Just joking. I want to thank you all for coming to this event, this is a celebration for upcoming valentine’s day, yes tomorrow will be the day, I want to thank my wife for taking care of me, for loving me with all your heart, I love you, and always be in love with you,” As people start to lose interest, he quickly to wraps up. “Students, enjoy this party, I made this for all of you, for my wife, and for all the couples there.” The principal in his mid thirties. Young and handsome, wearing simple white tuxedo. We all cheer as he takes out a bouquet of flowers and gives it to his wife sitting at a table.

“Wow sweet.” I said bitterly. I still don’t have a date, and everyone is slow dancing right in the center of the hall. How can I be the only one who doesn’t have a partner?

Suddenly, someone taps on my shoulder. I look in their direction, and see a pair of green eyes. I Immediately know who the owner of those eye are. “Sel? Why are you here? ” I ask, confused.

“Can I have the honor of this dance, my lady?” he takes out one of his hands.

I step closer. ” Where’s Trisha?”

“Don’t worry, she didn’t ditch me, she said we should dance with our friends and later we would meet up again,” he smiles.

“So, would you be my dance? Angel?” he says with his unrealistic British accent. He’s wearing red polo inside his black coat with matching green necktie, which made his beautiful emerald green eyes sparkle. I am wearing a red and black sweetheart dress that matches his outfit perfectly .

“Yes mister British,” we laugh. I then I take his hand, and we go to the dance floor.

We talk about the memories we share during our childhood: the amount of embarrassment we caused, and all of the fun we had with Gail, Hans, Raven, and Sean.

“Come to think of it, where’s Sean now?” I ask Russ. Sean was the one who always bullied me. Not the typical kind of bully, he is more verbal; always insulting me: my looks, failures, and many imperfections I make. You think I would ditch him, but he was very nice if he put his mind to it.

“He went to France two years ago. Remember?” he points out like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

Why didn’t Sean tell me? Am I the only one who didn’t know?

“Don’t tell me he didn’t tell you?” he says, startled. “That’s why you couldn’t come that day, when we sent him off in the airport,” I’m so shocked, that I am unable to even mutter a word. “He said you’re sick. Angel.” Russ finishes.

I don’t feel well now. “Russ, lets meet later,” I say, distantly. “Dance with Trisha now, I’m going to bathroom.”

(Play the song here===>)

I retreat from his sight. I’m more than confused. Oh my God, Sean didn’t tell me anything, and he is one of my childhood friends. As I was franticly keeping calm, I heard a click sound, and my sight was gone. God, already? I am still in the dance floor, and I don’t have any plans to be kissed by a stranger. Yet, I don’t see anything, and I don’t know which way I should go.My mind went blank, when someone suddenly grabs me. He places both hands on my waist. Once I realize he wasn’t letting go, I wrap my arms around his neck. The song is still playing, and I am starting to believe it is a wonderful night. I don’t even know who this guy is; yet I won’t say anything, since he might recognize who I am, which would ruin the magic. I sway with the mysterious man, feeling bubbly inside. He smells like expensive cologne, which is very addicting. When the song stops, everything started to happen in slow motion.

I felt his breath fanning in my lips, and in a second maybe, before he starts kissing me. I was frozen still, savoring the minty yet sweet flavor of his lips.”I missed you, Angel,” he says in a whisper. His voice was unrecognizable. I can feel my body is slightly shaking

My Pu$$y will not rest until I Buy iPhone 11

iPhone Slay Queen
It is still interesting to see how people crave for iPhones especially the latest iPhones when they are put in the market.Many women will do anything for an iPhone to the extent that some will let men sleep with them in exchange for the Apple product.Since the outdoor of the latest iPhone 11 Max Pro, several celebrities including Sandra Ankobiah, Tonto Dikeh and others have flaunted their latest mobile device on social media.Tonto Dikeh who purchased 3 pieces of the brand new series of iPhone 11 Max Pro has advised women not to sleep with numerous men just to be able to purchase the fone which cost about $1000.00.A Ghanaian slay queen has turned deaf ears to Tonto Dikeh’s advice as she had vowed not to rest until she owns an iPhone 11 Max Pro.This slay queen whose name is yet to be identified made this pronouncement on social media shared by Hiplife founder Reggie Rockstone.In the said post which she added her photo, the lady posted her photo and her caption hinted she’s ready to allow men to have their way with her so she could get money to purchase the phone.See the screenshot below

Source: browngh.com

Romance Classics : GIFT OF THE MAGI | GBAMLOG.COM 

 

ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTY-SEVEN CENTS. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheek burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it cer tainly had that word on the look-out for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name ‘Mr. James Dillingham Young.’ The ‘Dillingham’ had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of ‘Dillingham’ looked blurred, as though they were thinking seri ously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called ‘Jim’ and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Delia finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. To-morrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Some thing fine and rare and sterling – something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim. There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Per haps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shin ing like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out of the door and down the stairs to the street. Where she stopped the sign read: ‘Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.’ One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, pant ing. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the ‘Sofronie.’ ‘Will you buy my hair?’ asked Della. ‘I buy hair,’ said Madame. ‘Take yer hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it.’ Down rippled the brown cascade. ‘Twenty dollars,’ said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand ‘Give it to me quick,’ said Della. Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation – as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value – the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain. When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends – a mammoth task. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, closelying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. ‘If Jim doesn’t kill me,’ she said to herself, ‘before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do – oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?’ At seven o’clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove, hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: ‘Please God, make him think I am still pretty.’ The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two – and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. ‘Jim, darling,’ she cried, ‘don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again – you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say “Merry Christmas!” Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice – what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you.’ ‘You’ve cut off your hair?’ asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labour. ‘Cut it off and sold it,’ said Della. ‘Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?’ Jim looked about the room curiously. ‘You say your hair is gone?’ he said with an air almost of idiocy. ‘You needn’t look for it,’ said Della. ‘It’s sold, I tell you – sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,’ she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, ‘but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?’ Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year – what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. ‘Don’t make any mistake, Dell,’ he said, ‘about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going awhile at first.’ White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs – the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoiseshell, with jewelled rims – just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: ‘My hair grows so fast, Jim!’ And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, ‘Oh, oh!’ Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. ‘Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.’ Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. ‘Dell,’ said he, ‘let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ’em awhile. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.’ The magi, as you know, were wise men – wonderfully wise men – who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the unevent ful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days, let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

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Horror Reality: THE CELLPHONE | GBAMLOG.COM 

A couple of months ago, my friend’s cousin (a single mother) bought a new cell phone. After a long day of work, she came home, placed her phone on the counter, and went watch to TV; her son came to her and asked if he could play with her new phone. She told him not to call anyone or mess with text messages, and he agreed.

At around 11:20, she was drowsy, so she decided to tuck her son in and go to bed. She walked to his room and saw that he wasn’t there. She then ran over to her room to find him sleeping on her bed with the phone in his hand.

Relieved, she picked her phone back up from his hand to inspect it. Browsing through it, she noticed only minor changes such as a new background, banner, etc., but then she opened up her saved pictures. She began deleting the pictures he had taken, until only one new picture remained.

When she first saw it, she was in disbelief. It was her son sleeping on her bed, but the picture was taken by someone else above him… and it showed the left half of an elderly woman’s face.

HAUNTED HOUSE EXPERIENCE | GBAMLOG.COM 

Caution:This is a true story. Read at your own risk.

My nightmare started like this.

I was driving my car on a deserted street in some little beach town. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind and rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. Pink and Yellow stucco buildings lined the street, their windows boarded up. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned.

Seeing a strange deserted house made me obsessed to explore it. My senses told me not to enter,but I overcame my fears and drove to its drive-way not knowing what the house comprised of, there was a haunting atmosphere. I was curious to know what’s inside the house so I got out of my car. The gravel path crunched under my boots, I went up the stair case and through the portal like doorway, It felt like I was in another but horrifying dimension. As I proceeded, I heared strange noises. I saw writings on the walls and even heard childrens laughter and footsteps through out the living room. Doors were slamming shut by themselves and even the music player which I thought hadn’t been played for years was playing a strange horrifying music.The house was haunted as I deduced; I saw webs all over the place and even saw shadows moving.

The wall’s natural colour was grey, I deduced, but now It was red, covered with blood. The house was very dark and gloomy. The furniture was covered with white cloth but now the white colour had become yellow with age. The carpets had dirt and blood stains on, The curtains were drawn and had gaps in them, the moonlight had managed to peek through the ratty curtains. As I saw a shadow come near me, I tried to swallow, but my mouth seemed drier than the Nevada desert. The shadow came even closer, as I saw it touch me, I closed my eyes with dread and fright, as I managed to open my eyes, I saw the worst sight of my life, The shadow was so close I could feel and hear it breathing, it breath was stinking, I held my breath as long i could, as a dog barked outside the house, The shadow rippled and vanished, as it went it touched my forehead and I fainted, the last thing I saw was, DIE, written on the wall. When I woke up I was on the floor and had blood on my face.

I heard screams and saw monsters, after a while a moster came running towards me.I sat bolt upright shivering in my bed. There was NO STORM, NO MONSTERS. Morning sunlight filtered through my bedroom window.

I thought I saw a shadow a flicker across the glass – a humanlike shape. But then there was a knock on my bedroom door. A fifth-storey window with a rickety old fire escape… there couldn’t have been anyone out there.

My door knocked again and the familliar rippling of a shadow startled me…..

The Knock became a bang and suddenly my bedroom door was crushed into pieces and I could see the same monster infront of me. It rushed towards me and he looked at me for a while and then held me up. In no time he squezed me and I was no longer alive.

What if you were there? What if you saw a strange deserted house? What would you do? Because I Think Your Next.

The End?

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Short Horror Stories – A Haunted House – Wattpad
https://www.wattpad.com/86797959-short-horror-stories-a-haunted-house

PERFECT SEDUCTION: HOW I SEDUCE MY ENGLISH TEACHER.| GBAMLOG.COM

I Seduced My High School English Teacher, It Was Totally Worth It

“Blood, sex, and death.” Those were the three things Mr. Fitzpatrick taught us were part of every gothic horror novel. He was the high school english teacher I hopelessly crushed on, and I couldn’t help but notice that his eyes lingered on me when he said the second word. Sex.

I was a senior then, about to graduate. Glued to my seat even in the late, late spring when my classmates were terminally zoned out, focused on graduation, the summer ahead of them, college. But I still had unfinished business here, and today he was wearing a black tie over a light blue button-up and jeans that were just snug enough to drive my imagination wild. When he perched on the edge of his desk reading from The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, I let my eyes wander up and down his body, imaging a new use for each part.

He was the new cute teacher this year, the one the girls whispered about between classes. Mr. Fitzpatrick is looking good today.I’d tried to pretend I wasn’t one of them before, it’s not interesting to have the same crush as everyone else. But his charm was undeniable, who else could make the classics so sexy? Every day when he taught his inflection would bounce up and down with passion as he taught us about Bram Stoker and Shirley Jackson.

When he taught Dracula he became brooding and obsessive, delving into each character. Even in the clinical, fluorescent-lit classroom it was sexual. I spend the 50 minute class period imagining his lips — his teeth — on my neck, finding me in secret, lusting after my “life force” as Stoker says. The week he spent on, The Haunting of Hill House, was one of the most oddly erotic of my life. The text was thrilling, I was in a constant state of suspense and I held myself to not reading ahead, and being completely present in class when he talked about the role adrenaline plays in our bodies physiological state as we read. I didn’t ask, but I was sure my increased interest in him was one of those byproducts he was talking about.

When graduation was only a few weeks away, I felt bolder. Surely I should make a move, if the consequences of being rebuffed were so low? What could they do? I was almost gone. And so I became consumed with the idea of hooking up with Mr. Fitzpatrick.

At first, I thought I could be subtle. Mr. Fitzpatrick certainly noticed when I wore something low-cut or a little more form-fitting. Once I entered his classroom in a dress that particularly accentuated my curves and I could have sworn I heard him groan. But understandably, he never did anything more than cast a lingering glance my way.

He’d get in too much trouble, I reasoned. I’m going to have to be the one to do something. So I put my mind into creating the perfect plan: I’d just have to present him with an opportunity he couldn’t say no to.

The senior end-of-year dance was coming up, and I inserted myself into the planning committee long enough to serve as an official liaison and ask Mr. Fitzpatrick if he would be a chaperone, apparently we were in desperate need of one (I didn’t ask anyone else). A light flickered in his eyes as I carefully enunciated the word desperate. Hopefully that was a look of comprehending my agenda. He agreed to the task.

I bought new lingerie, black and red and lacy. I wore it under a loose-fitting white sundress, pure and virginal like a gothic heroine, but dark and carnal underneath.

At the dance, I added a note to the clipboard waiting for him as a chaperone. It was the regular list of rules to enforce and emergency contacts. My note was underneath, it was a line from Draculaalong with his room number:

“No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves.” CLC 345.

I never went to the dance. Instead I made my way through the dark and empty corridors of the school until I let myself into his classroom. I brought with me one candle to break up the darkness without relying on the fluorescents. Lighting it and setting it on a desk in the front row I climbed into Mr. Fitzpatrick’s seat behind his desk, pulled the straps of my dress down so the top of my lacy bra was revealed, and crossed my legs with my heels resting on the edge of his desk, waiting.

It was a long wait. He didn’t find my note right away, but it became pleasurably agonizing, every tiny sound I heard in the hallway seemed like it could be him approaching. I got excited and then mellowed again when I realized it was my imagination. When he did come, I didn’t even hear him approach.

“Adrienne.”

It was a guess he made as he entered the classroom, it was too dim to see my face but I had made sure the glow illuminated my nearly bare legs. I was glad he was expecting it to be me.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick.” I acknowledged him and removed my legs from his desk, slowly crossing them in front of me.

“This note… what are you doing here? We shouldn’t be here.”

He was saying the words, but even to someone who wasn’t engaging in wishful thinking they sounded unconvincing. He didn’t want them to be true. I stood up and leaned against the edge of his desk, facing him, opening my legs a bit so he could imagine himself between them.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick, I’m sorry if you’re misunderstanding. I just wanted to discussDracula more.”

He moved closer, grinning.

When he was close enough that I could touch him, I grabbed his tie and pulled his body into mine. I could feel he was already hard as he pressed against the loose fabric separating us. The situation excited him as much as it excited me. “You’ve always been my favorite student, Adrienne, but I could get in a lot of trouble for being here right now.”

Pulling harder on his tie, my mouth found his neck. “I’ll just have to make it worth your while then.”

He groaned and his hands found the undersides of my thighs, pulling me closer to him and moving us both back so I was resting on his desk. I slide back farther and wrapped my legs around him.

“I just wanted to experience this before graduation,” I told him, “I’ve been trying not to make a move all year.”

Even in the low light, I could see the smile that spread across his face. He says he loves the way I look lying on his desk. I respond by feeling the bulge in his pants, attempting to grip him through the fabric and feeling him grow.

“We need to make this quick. They’ll look for me if I don’t come back.”

“Perfect.” With the suspense building as long as it had, I wouldn’t last long in his arms anyway.

I heard him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants but I didn’t look away from his face. Even in the dark he looked handsome, brooding. I wanted him to tell me more about sex and blood and death but I also just wanted to experience it with him — all the parts of being human, all the things worth writing about.

I was happy there, to be a willing participant in a fantasy I was sure he had. Happy when he slid the lace panties I’d brought for the occasion off, happy when he didn’t bother to remove my bra but instead pulled my breasts free from it, and especially happy when his body met mine.

While forging a path with his mouth from my neck, down to my collarbone, and then landing on my breasts he pulled me closer to him and entered me. The speed with which he poured himself into me belied his eagerness. I knew he wanted me as much as I wanted him to. As much as I’d fantasized about him wanting me.

Lowering himself so his face was next to mine he whispered, “Adrienne, if you want to be a great student you’re going to have to finish me off with your mouth.”

Kneeling before him I skipped the niceties and began blowing him full on right away, working my hand around his shaft in tandem with my mouth. His hands worked their way through my hair, separating it into two ponytails he held firmly as he used them to guide my head onto his cock, increasing in rhythm until I felt him tense up, his hands clenching my hair. Pulling my head down on him, he held me there and emptied himself into the back of my mouth. I could taste the saltiness as I removed myself from him, licking my lips.

It was the perfect end to my senior

year.

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I Seduced My High School English Teacher, It Was Totally Worth It | GBAMLOG