Writer shares 1st of October-themed short stories

The Scientist’s Brother

Bright+orange+pumpkins%2C+a+ghoulish+graveyard%2C+a+haunting+dungeon%2C+Mary+Shelleys+Frankenstein+cover+and+bat-spider-ghost+stickers+come+together+to+introduce+a+new+seasonal+series.+As+Halloween+grows+closer%2C+writer+Brooke+Murphree+will+be+publishing+spooky+ghost+stories+covering+a+variety+of+Halloween+topics.+I+really+enjoy+writing+little+short+stories%2C+Murphree+said.+I+see+this+as+a+fun+way+to+practice+my+fictional+writing+skills%2C+and+start+up+a+fun+Halloween+and+Fall+spirit.+%28+Murphree+used+Bazaart+to+create+this+featured+image+along+with+the+following+sources%3A+Commons.wikimedia.org%2C+Flickr.com%2C+NegitiveSpace.co+and+Picryl.com.%29

Brooke Murphree

Bright orange pumpkins, a ghoulish graveyard, a haunting dungeon, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein cover and bat-spider-ghost stickers come together to introduce a new seasonal series. As Halloween grows closer, writer Brooke Murphree will be publishing spooky ghost stories covering a variety of Halloween topics. “I really enjoy writing little short stories,” Murphree said. “I see this as a fun way to practice my fictional writing skills, and start up a fun Halloween and Fall spirit.” ( Murphree used Bazaart to create this featured image along with the following sources: Commons.wikimedia.org, Flickr.com, NegitiveSpace.co and Picryl.com.)

Reading Time: 2 minutes

“The Scientist’s Brother” is the first spooky story in a series of short stories by Brooke Murphree, written in hopes of being entertaining and fun, while getting readers into the Halloween and Fall spirit. Some are scary, to fit the Halloween theme, while some have a more uplifting and autumn-y energy. Thank you for reading!

 

“How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?” He asked solemnly in a whisper to himself, looking at his hands. The rubber gloves squeaked as his fingers bent into fists.

He looked back up to the 7-foot being with its extremities stitched together. The being’s grunts echoed through the tower. The young doctor looked at his creation with remorse before his eyes looked back out the tower’s glassless window. The village had been completely eradicated, aside from the group at the palace gates, sporting pitchforks as sharp as their chants.

The young doctor turned his attention to his creation, under a beige-y cloth. His image was different to the reality in front of him. A nearly 7-foot tall being with sickly pale green skin and appendages, now only being held by less than the appropriate amount of stitchery to keep the being together properly, laid in a pile.

The monstrous being may not have worked out as planned, but Viktor had spent countless hours in this dingy attic tower. His purpose was to make … a friend.

Now it’s become a near pile of corpse parts.

Viktor ran his hand over the cool metal slab. His back gloves bunched up around the cloth and in a spastic movement, tore it down, revealing the reality.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, “I didn’t mean to do this. Especially not to you.”

The face of his being was a familiar one.

The roars grew louder and pounding traveled through the castle manor. The steely machines beeped and booped as they reached their peak readiness. Viktor rushed to pick up the cable wires on the sides of the operating tables.

While his back was turned, he was completely unaware of the waking monster behind him. He turned around and moved his hands precisely to clip the cables to each bolt, halting when a low grunt came from the form in front of him.

Viktor’s eyes widened, staring down at the same blue-green eyes that belonged to his oldest friend … the only person to not think he was screwed up for pursuing the art of science.

“Ambrose …”

Two cold hands gripped Viktor’s wrists. He had always been a scrawny man, so it was no surprise that his brother’s hands cuffed half of his forearm entirely. Soft grunts came from Ambrose, as Viktor stood stunned that the eyes he peered into actually were his brother’s, and not the same as the soulless, rage-filled ones that tore the village apart.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you my brother,”  Viktor said, as he sniffled back the tears that began to fill. “You were a village hero, and I turned you into a monster.” 

He tried moving his hands closer to the bolts, only for Ambrose’s grip to tighten over his wrists. The young doctor’s glassy eyes looked into the dead ones belonging to what used to be his brother. The rage returned, and his humanity washed away. The ex-general Ambrose was no more. Now, only a mindless corpse, held together by stitches and spiritless anger with a hunger for destruction remained. …

 

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