Eagle Dispatch Scary Story Winners

Below are the three winning entries for the First Annual Eagle Dispatch Scary Story Contest. First place went to Chase Hibbs, second to Alexa Bieri, and third place was Sebastian Calvert. The honorable mention goes to Helena Benefield. Shyloh Mack, and Jade Underwood. We also wanted to feature a future Flying Eagle, Erica Wagner who is in the fifth grade at St. Francis de Sales.

First Place
The Window by Chase Hibbs

As I peer through my window, I’m met with an unnatural frost for the current time of year; a thick film of condensation blocks all view of the outside world. I feel at peace knowing that I’m sheltered from the cold world outside, whilst having the ability to relish in the warm, familiar atmosphere of my abode. All seemed right in the world. Between a freshly cooked meal in my stomach, the fireplace holding a calm crackle in the living room, and a shelf of vast novels all available to me, there appeared to be no conflict that could affect my psyche. 

That’s when I was suddenly met with a glare. A small glint of a dark silhouette through that frosted window met my peripherals in a disturbing way. There was no clear indication as to why I could be witnessing such a figure at this hour, and especially not in this temperature. What seemed like hours passed with this slight yet looming shadow cast upon the room; the unease set in quicker by each agonizing second. I was compelled to travel, yet torn by the thought of what’s to come. My legs moved suddenly and without proper deliberation with my brain. I found myself standing blankly in the middle of the room while in a half stride towards the window. A rounded shape was now clearly noticeable in the window, something organic yet so artificial. This dark sphere served as a crutch upon my mind to which I couldn’t escape from. My heart started to beat through my chest to where I envisioned it bruising me with every pulse, the sound acting as a cacophony within my body. 

Steadily as if I was attempting not to be seen, I crossed the room to approach a towel to clear this veil that was the only force keeping this wretched thing away from my direct sight. I knew from this point on that each step would be a task fit for either a warrior or an idiot. Knowing simply that the latter was probably the case for me, I trekked on with a tremble in each foot placement. 

I was face to face with the pane before I knew it; my face was cast in pure shadow. My hand quivered as I lifted it into a position to wipe away what had saved me for so long. The time was either now or never, and most likely it would prove me wrong for the horrors I have envisioned. As witnessed by fate, I was met with the pearly white of the outdoors. However, it was attached to a man with terrible unblinking eyes in the form of a pale smile that seemed to be never-ending. An unsettling grin from ear to ear was plastered on his contorted face from the severity of his smile. My last memory is the cocking of his head at an angle unachievable by any man with the clear whisper of “Hello neighbor.”

Second Place
Three Fifty Nine by Alexa Bieri

I roll over in bed, unable to succumb to my dreams. My eyelids are too tired to open, but my body is too restless to sleep. I hear the clock tick next to my bed. 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

It never stops. It’s always ticking. It rings in and out of my ears, over and over and over and over again. 

Tick.

Tick.

Growl

Tick.

Growl? Did I hear that right? My trance in the world between sleep and life is playing tricks on me. Surely, that was not a growl.

Tick.

Growl

Tick.

Yet, there it is again. My stomach twists with fear, but my brain is too tired to comprehend what I’m hearing. 

Maybe it’s Mothman, I joke in my head, after remembering the monster we learned about in school today. Supposedly, years and years ago, “Mothman” was responsible for a bridge collapse, killing 46 people. Rumor had it there were sightings of a giant man-sized creature flying above before the accident.

Scratch

My eyes fly open, breaking their barrier of drowsiness, along with my classroom reminiscence. I am greeted with nothing but my dark, empty room, untouched by growls and scratches. 

My fear dissipates, and I look to the right of my head, at my ever-ticking alarm clock, which casts an eerie red glow over the room.

The time reads 3:59 A.M.

I close my eyes.

Creaaak

I open my eyes. 

The door to my closet is cracked open, no more than an inch. Was it like that before? I can’t remember. 

Calm down. I tell myself, my stomach turning into knots. Just go to sleep. 

Inky black fingers stretch out of my closet as I start to close my eyes. 

Inky. Black. Fingers.

Any drowsiness or haze I felt before seeps away and transforms into adrenaline as I sit up, watching the fingers grow longer and longer. The door creaks open further. Further. Further. 

It’s like I’m watching in slow motion, but at the same time, it’s like I hit the fast forward button. 

Eyes.

Bright red eyes stare from between the crack, as it’s fingers push open the door. I try to scream, but in no more than a blink of an eye, the fingers on the closet are stretched out across the room, and wrapped around my throat, silencing my almost spoken fear.

I grasp at them, my mind wrapped up in confusion. Tears stream down my face as I stare at the huge, hideous creature, who now emerges out from my closet. It’s tall. It’s lanky. It looks something like a bird.. No. It looks like a moth. Mothman. 

It’s a dream. It’s a nightmare. It has to be. 

As my vision goes blurry from the fingers around my throat, I see one final thing: My clock changes to 4:00.

I wake up in bed. It’s over. It was a dream. I sigh with relief, looking towards my alarm clock.

3:59.

An eerie growl echoes from my closet.

Third Place
Those Red Beads

Shepherdstown is my home. I grew up here, went to school here, made friends here, hunted here, got arrested for hunting in the wrong place here, got bailed out for hunting in the wrong place here. I wasn’t always the smartest kid, I barely passed through education, passing high school with a 2.0 GPA. Regardless of the trouble, I love this place, and to celebrate my 25th birthday, I’ll hunt here again. As I drove through those long winding country roads, I was being stabbed by nostalgia. The scent of the trees, the height of the mountains, the unsteady curve of the road. Nostalgia was only heightened when I had actually gotten to where I would go hunting, my old uncle’s farm. My dad and I had come here when I was younger, his brother died about three decades too early, but the things that isolation does to you is a good reason for that. The ground was wet, not that comfortable rock-like dirt wet, but that creekside slime which you couldn’t even breathe near. I nearly slipped climbing up the hill. My ankle got caught in a wicked tree root, slicing it open at the side. It was not unbearable, but enough to sting while I scaled up to my father’s perch. When I arrived, something was off, something about the way the dirt was so horrifically uneven or the leaves of the surrounding trees were mangled in a wretched way. 

However, those minor things wouldn’t stop me and I climbed into the old wooden perch. This thing was definitely showing age, the wood was twisted and corroding away, and the smell of mold was revolting, but it had always worked, perhaps something about the leaves over the top made it look tree-like. After silencing the older phone I had brought with me, I got into position to fire for any animals that would dare approach the line of sight of the tree. I stood there for a few hours, every part of my body going numb while the anticipation raced through my mind. At last, a deer came into the line of sight, as I slowly brought up the barrel and peered it through the blind, my finger dancing on the trigger, a wicked speed obliterated the deer right in front of the shelter. I could only stay in the shelter for so long, curiosity killing the cat using my mind as a ball of yarn. I finally stepped outside and smelled death, crude, wicked death. I looked to the left of my shelter and was blinded by this light, a cruel cardinal light appearing like the flames of the lowest ring of the underworld. That low, almost unintelligible growl, that horrid growl was not the sound of an animal, but rather something more spiritual, more fantastical. Then, from the dim crimson glow I saw a black coat surrounding those, those which terrified me, those screaming for attention, those red beads.

Future Flying Eagle Feature
The Truth About the Flatwoods Monster- Erica Wagner, 5th Grade

One day I was playing in a field with my five friends Harry, George, John, Ryan, and Sam. It was almost 8:00 P.M. when we had to go inside for the night but we had to play one more game of soccer. When suddenly I saw a red streak fly across the sky. I looked at my friends they looked at me. I heard George whispering to Harry it sounded like he was scared. Ryan said, “I think it was a spaceship, I’m not sure though.” Sam said, “I think it landed behind that hill.” I said, “We should  go check it out.” George said he would get his mom. While he was getting his mom, we saw another kid far away walking his dog. When George got back, we started walking toward the hill  when the kid came up to us and said “Did you see that thing, too?” We all answered “Yes.” He asked if his dog Ike could come too. We said “Sure,” as we were walking, we started smelling something rotten and gross. The boy with his dog said his name was Tim. As we got closer to the bottom the smell got worse. Ryan said, “Do you think something died down here?” John said, “That would explain the smell.” We eventually reached a field of tall grass with puddles of grayish-black slime leading to it. Ike started barking at the grass. The smell got worse. 

We were about 5 feet away from the grass when something jumped out. It looked like a creature related to a tree. It had yellow eyes and a red shadow on its face. The rest of it was green. It had sharp claws on its hands. All of us ran; I think Sam peed a little. Ike was barking a lot. Ike had stayed back at the field of grass. When we made it up the hill, Ike caught up to us.  Eventually, we made it to my house and we agreed to stay there for a bit. We heard Ike whining; we thought that he was hurt, and there was something on his leg, it looked like the slime from the grass field. George’s mom said she would take him to the vet, George said that I should come with them. At the vet, the vet said that Ike had a mix of rabies and poison. She said that the poison was hurting the dog but also making the rabies go away. She offered to amputate the dog’s leg. Tim was hesitant but he agreed. After this, George’s mom took us home and Tim stayed at the vet. The next day the news was saying that the red streak was a shooting star reflecting a light. We knew the truth it was really a terrible monster.