Jingkids Creative Writing Contest Entry: Steak

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Thank you to those who have submitted their Horror Stories for the Jingkids Creative Writing Contest! The winners of our contest will receive a gift certificate worth RMB 998 to the fabulous afternoon tea at Beijing's 5-star Rosewood Hotel, as well as one-of-a-kind Halloween pastries worth over RMB 300 from our generous sponsor Comptoirs de France. Take a look at the amazing Chocolate Pumpkin (available in large (RMB 218) and medium (RMB 98) sizes), Halloween Chocolate Witch (RMB 118) and Clown (RMB 158), as well as their Halloween cookies (individual price RMB 16, pack of 6 for RMB 88) and more in this video below.

Below is one of the entries for the contest. Beware…!

Steak

By Molly Zhang, 15 years old

A new city. A new house. A new family. Max’s life had changed forever. Her mom had found a new boyfriend. And today was their first day moving into his house. Max didn’t know how she felt about Brendon, he seemed fine to say the least, but he was a discrete and peculiar person—one that needed things to be exact—especially when it came to his diet. But tonight, she had to sleep well; tomorrow would be her first day of school at Raven Melville High.

Friday, October 21st. 7am. Early mornings have always been Max’s least favorite thing. She abhorred everything about them—the frigid air, the ceaseless bird chirps, and the stale toast. All except one thing: doing her hair. Her most prized possession was her two ivory white hair bows; they made her feel distinctive and confident. Ever since she could remember, her mom would clip these adorable hair bows into her lustrous black hair.

School was everything Max had expected—lectures, homework, nothing special or particular. Once the bell rang at 3pm, she dashed out of the classroom and into the girl’s bathroom. Max felt sick. Really sick. To the bottom of her soul. She felt like something was attached to her like a magnet—something that would follow her till the end. But she could not explicate any of this—it was too complex for a thirteen-year-old. Kneeling in front of the toilet, she vomited out everything she had eaten that day. Max was an empty vase.

The frigid winter air trickled beneath her skin and pinched every muscle in her body. She could feel the presence of someone. Something. Abruptly, her stall door creaked and flapped open violently. She heard the low breathing of an eerie, unfamiliar sound. With sweat trickling down her pale, innocent cheeks, she turned around and looked into the mirror—it wasn’t a reflection of herself.

A black, slender figure looked back at her. It crawled out of the mirror, towards her. And this creature was a nightmare, her nightmare—millions of tiny, red dots, formed the crispy, dull skin of the jet-black, tough-shelled creature—these dots reminded her of the time she struggled from hives; her tropophobia screamed death within her. Its legs were composed of six furry spider legs, and the eyes, were two scarlet, burning embers piercing through her skin, looking into the depths of her soul. The arms were composed of two black, venomous snakes that slithered chilling “ssss.” Its bald head reminded her of cancer, something that she was intensively, extensively, and anxiously afraid of—she knew it was incurable. And worst of all, its crooked lips formed a smile that she would remember forever—it extended all the way to its eyes, ripping its lips further and deeper.

The lights went red. Dark red. Thick, black blood slowly oozed out of the corners of its lips, dripping onto her hair. Its arms stretched, and extended to touch her face. Sharp, slender black fingers were reaching for her. Calling for her. But she was immobile—too stunned to make the slightest movement. Quivering, Max squeezed her eyes shut, drowning in cold sweat.

10:35 pm. Max opened her eyes. She was sitting in her room doing homework. Confusion. Confusion. Confusion.

She felt as though she was forgetting something vital—she could not remember what she had last done. Feeling famished, Max tip-toed down the stairs and made a PB&J sandwich. While she was bringing it up to her room, she could see something black ooze out of her sandwich. The two slices of bread formed an immense mouth, one that could swallow her head whole. She froze, a numbing coldness ensuing. And the plate shattered on the floor.

2:13 am. Max awoke to the stench of something rotten. Sewage? She pondered. A faint noise was calling for her. Desiring her. It grew louder and stronger. Max followed the noises down the stairs and into the basement.

Red. Rouge. Scarlet. Dark blood—death kind of red—filled the room. She knew then and there that there was no escape. Looking around, it was hell. A multitude of dead bodies piled up on the ground—slaughtered with the many weapons hung on the lifeless walls. Then she saw him.

The killer, the demon, the monstrosity—walking towards her with heavy, slow steps as he tilted his head, smiling that rigid smile that pierced through her soul; she could hide nothing. She could hide nowhere.

The creature came so close to her that its breathing was louder than her own. Thump, thump, thump. Max’s heartbeat relentlessly as he stared at her delusionally, saliva dripping from his slit mouth. He. Was. Hungry.

Max shook, knowing that she would only live thirteen short years. She should’ve cherished them more. She didn’t want to die so soon—there were so many things she hadn’t experienced yet.

She whimpered helplessly as cold sweat trickled down to her feet, and her face was icy milk pale. Her eyes glistened in the darkness of the red dungeon—her death place.

The black figure hovered over her and tilted his head back. Max watched with terror as he stretched his mouth a meter wide: his, sharp, torturous red fangs were ready to slaughter her. Max saw a tattoo on his left wrist—B.Z. And that was it. He inhaled her whole.

8:53 am. Saturday, October 22nd. A fragrant, savory scent lured Max’s mom, Sandra, into the kitchen. She was heart-warmed at the sight of Brendon’s breakfast—steak. Ravenous, she quickly took a bite of it. It was surprisingly tender. She took another bite—something was off about this steak. Then she took her final, triggering bite: an item that was circular and stretchy caught her attention. She spat it out, her blood freezing. There, in her steak, were two white bows stained red. “I like my steak particular,” Brendon Zandburg whispered coldly in her ear.

Images: Pexels

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