Here at the school where I teach, the Slam Poetry/Literary Magazine Club has signs up asking the students to write three-sentence horror stories. I thought I’d try my hand at it.

Clarice folded her hands primly. Everything was ready. All that remained was for James to take a bite.

I mean, it kind of works, right? There’s a sense of dread there, a sense of anticipation. I think I can do better.

“There’s no such thing as monsters under the bed,” father said as he turned off the light.

“He must be right,” little Johnny said to himself.

“Yes, he must,” replied something.

Let’s try another one:

Charlene cackled. It was time. She lit the fire under the cauldron and waited.

Or:

She’d lived in fear for eleven years. Always looking over her shoulder. She should have done that today, too.

And finally:

James’s hands shook, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. His victim already hung from the rack. It was just a matter now of turning the screws.

What do you think? Have a three-sentence horror story of your own? Share them in the comments or tweet them at me @XEYeti with the hashtag #3sentencehorrorstory.