211. Tiny (Scary) Stories!
this month's tiny story contest
🎃 Dear storyteller,
Let us play the (scary) game of tiny people. Think zombies, vampires, ghosts, and whatever cryptids come to mind. If not the supernatural, think humans too. We can be plenty scary.
(If you are a new reader, check out some past contests. Last month, we wrote haiku.)
For this edition, per the spirit of Halloween, these are the rules:
👆 Pick a tiny person from the drawings below
📍 Place that tiny person in a terrifying world
👻 Write their tiny - and scary! - story
🙌🏽 Read, comment, and like the stories of others
The SneakyArt Post is a publication of secretly drawn art of the world. Every week, I share my latest sketchbook drawings of the city, and offer ideas from my journey as an artist and writer.
Who are Tiny People?
Dear reader, tiny people are all around you. They are the countless, anonymous people who pass through your world every day. They populate your streets, they sit at the other tables in your cafe, they wait in line with you for the train, they go to the movies with you.
You know nothing about them. But each one has a full life - with friends and family, obligations and responsibilities, hopes and dreams, secrets, private thoughts. All the stuff of life.
You know nothing about them, and they know nothing about you but, at an intersection of spacetime, your paths cross. Your worlds collide.
Next time you see a tiny person, say hello. Or don’t, it might be odd. Remember, in their world, you are just a tiny person too.
Sneaky Art is created at this intersection of worlds. A moment of accidental art, translated to lines of ink on paper. That is all they would be.
But now you are here.
***
Dear storyteller, this is our pact. Writing a tiny story is a way to give tiny life to a tiny person. Best stories this week win 🥇 an original drawing, and 🥈🥉 signed prints.
A Dark Winter’s Tale
Dear storyteller, pick a tiny person from my hometown and write a dark winter’s tale.
[WINTER] [Top row, Friends] When it was time for the show, they got up to walk toward the escalators. It was the latest murder mystery - woman is accused of killing husband, but plays innocent during the investigation. Did she really do it? Did the husband have it coming? If so, will she get away with it? They always went as a group, exchanging secret smiles and silent laughter at the melodramatic plot-lines. Reality was not half as complicated.
Spooky Spring Story
Dear storyteller, the sun rises late in this corner of the world. Tell a scary story that takes place in the gloomy dawn, before the clouds part and let in the morning.
[SPRING] [Middle, The Choice of a Scone] If she stared at the tray long enough, she said to herself, they would leave her alone. If she appeared sufficiently worried, or anxious, or unsure of herself, the humans would let her be. She was the peaceful kind, she reminded anyone who would listen, she never drew first blood. But they never listened.
A Story of Summer
Dear storyteller, can a scary story begin (or end) with a grocery run? Pick a tiny person and write their story in the comments.
[SUMMER] [Top row, second person] Jane was glad for her new earphones. They fit so comfortably that she sometimes forgot she was even wearing them. And no one suspected a thing. They assumed she was speaking to the voices in her head, not the voices in her head.
An Ending in Autumn
Dear storyteller, all manner of living things die every autumn. No one would even notice. Pick a tiny person at the mall, and write the story of an ending in autumn.
[AUTUMN] [First row, Long Slurp] He wondered if they would catch him if he googled “how to get rid of a decomposing body” on the cafe wifi. Only one way to find out and, frankly, time was running out.
Best stories this week win 🥇 an original drawing, and 🥈🥉 signed prints. See you in the comments!
Last row, negotiating chopsticks. Normally she enjoyed the feel of the sticks between her fingers, slowing her movements enough to really savor each bite. This evening, however, her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t focus on her meal. She thought back to her nightmares over the previous week, waking again and again, sweating and heart pounding. And then her inexplicable certainty upon waking that morning that the mirror she had bought from her favorite thrift store was causing the terrible dreams. Such a shame too, as she loved its gilded edges and rounded frame. She called the shop first thing, only to get their voicemail but found on their website that they did not accept any returns. It was in her bedroom, but she felt the mirror’s presence while working in her office, piercing her concentration. She clocked out early, put on gloves and a jacket, removed the mirror from the wall, and gingerly placed it in the dumpster across the street from her building. Then she walked through the brisk air to her favorite restaurant. It was just after the server placed her noodle bowl at her table that the thrift store returned her call. She sheepishly explained that her inquiry was no longer relevant, now knowing their return policy, but the clerk still asked for details about the item in question. Upon hearing her response, the clerk replied, “um, ma’am, you must have the wrong thrift store. We never stock mirrors in our inventory. Best of luck to you,” then hung up. So she sits now, with her hands shaking, replaying the moment she purchased the mirror, the person at the register admiring it with her, saying “oh how lovely, I didn’t even know we had this in the shop.”
(Train drawing, center girl "Pensive")
She watched the lights passing by through what she thought was a window. Then she noticed the little white line. She moved closer, squinted her eyes to focus and managed to read the tiny sign: "Read me to open this portal to another world". SWOOOOSHHH! Off she goes!