September 20, 2025 • 16 mins
As strange black letters spread through town like a plague, Lily watches her friends become entranced by the mysterious messages they read – and how they act strangely when doing so.
Find more family-friendly frights and creepy games to play on our website at http://MicroTerrors.com!
Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/microterrors
Other stories, novels, and more from author Scott Donnelly: https://amzn.to/3LymHaU
Other narrations, podcasts, and audiobooks from voice artist Darren Marlar: https://WeirdDarkness.com
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Weird Darkness©, 2025
Micro Terrors: Scary Stories for Kids™, 2025#ScaryStoriesForKids #StoriesForKids #KidsStories #HalloweenKids #MicroTerrors #HalloweenStories
Find more family-friendly frights and creepy games to play on our website at http://MicroTerrors.com!
Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/microterrors
Other stories, novels, and more from author Scott Donnelly: https://amzn.to/3LymHaU
Other narrations, podcasts, and audiobooks from voice artist Darren Marlar: https://WeirdDarkness.com
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Weird Darkness©, 2025
Micro Terrors: Scary Stories for Kids™, 2025#ScaryStoriesForKids #StoriesForKids #KidsStories #HalloweenKids #MicroTerrors #HalloweenStories
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:12):
Welcome to micro Terrors, scary stories for kids where it's
always the spooky season, full of chills, thrills and spine
tingling spooks. Micro Terrors are family friendly frights for those
(00:37):
ages eight and up, and while our stories are for
younger years, we are still talking about things that go
bump in the night, and some children may not be
able to handle what others can. Parental consent is recommended
now for tonights micro Terror.
Speaker 2 (01:04):
The best time of Year by Fiona Cosgrove. The first
letter arrived with the first pumpkin. I was walking down
the footpath toward my best friend Robbie's, when Missus Crotchett,
his very elderly neighbor, called out from our house. Nighty, lilyly.
I waved back, watching nervously as the old lady teetered
(01:25):
on the top step of her porch. Good morning, Missus Crotchett.
She was bent over her stoop, positioning an old plastic
pumpkin on our top step. The pumpkin and Missus Crotchett
had both seen better days. The faded orange of the
Halloween icon was being taken over with a black mold,
and half its face was carved in as if a
flame had got a little too close and melted the plastic.
(01:48):
Missus Crotchett, though free of mold, somehow looked just as melted.
Her skin was loose and drooping, and her eyes perpetually
looked like they were about to close. Looking far back
to Hallow Lily, missus Crotchett asked, as I opened the
squeaky gate that led to Robbie's house. You bet I am,
I smiled back. Robbie was doing up the shoelaces on
(02:09):
the driveway. You bet we are, he corrected me. Do
you have your pumpkins yet? Missus Crotchett's voice quivered as
if her voice box was an old radio and it
was dropping in and out of reception. Not yet, I replied.
We're going up to Amber Acres in a few days.
She smiled, her lips looking so paper thin, I worried
(02:29):
they might flake right off. What a wonderful idea, children.
She paused for a second, looking up at the amber
leaves spreading across the maple tree in her front yard.
Then finally, she said, Halloween really is the best time
of the year. Missus Crotchett gave us a final nod
before making the slow return back to her front door.
(02:51):
Man Robbie whispered, pulling the last of his shoelaces tight.
Missus Crotchett must be at least six hundred years old
or more.
Speaker 1 (03:00):
I agreed.
Speaker 2 (03:01):
I thought she was a witch when we first moved in.
You know, she has a black cat. I rolled my
eyes and a broomstick. I guess called it out the back.
Robbie smirked. I clicked my fingers. Is that what always
smells so delicious around here? Stewed children? Robbie nodded. Got
to get the merit aid just right, I nodded, in solidarity.
(03:24):
Recipes are hard to perfect it all seriousness, though, sometimes
I worry you she'll fall right down those stairs. It
shall just burst into a cloud of skeletal dust. I
shivered at the thought. Hey, it's Jade. Robbie nodded to
the footpath where our friend Jade was walking past her,
head down, a black piece of paper clutched in her hands. Hi, Jade,
(03:47):
I called out, but she kept on walking. Uh hello,
Robbie yelled, but she didn't even flinch. We watched Jade
continue down the road, disappearing in the distance. The orange
archway of trees. What was that all about, I asked,
Maybe she did it tear us. Robbie shrugged, race you
(04:08):
to the baseball courts. I pretended to sigh and shake
my head. Then, when he wasn't looking, I took off.
Speaker 1 (04:14):
At a run.
Speaker 2 (04:15):
Loser makes the other lunch, I yelled over my shoulder
to her, red faced Robbie. It wasn't until the next day,
when Robbie and I took my soccer ball down to
the oval. Then I saw a second letter. A girl
from our school, Nelly, was sitting on the monkey bars
by herself, reading from a black piece of paper. Her
eyes were studiously running across the page, her bottom lip
(04:36):
tucked nervously behind her top teeth. I tapped Robbie on
the shoulder. That's the same kind of letter Jade had yesterday,
isn't it. Robbie didn't even bother looking up.
Speaker 1 (04:47):
What the letter? Remember?
Speaker 2 (04:50):
Wind whipped past my head as Robbie kicked a soccer
ball right over my shoulder, grazing the ends of my
black hair. Hey, I said, watch it. You're the one
who wasn't watching. He laughed back, get it, I aimed.
The next few kicks directly at Robbie, but he dodged
them easily. Breathless and annoyed, I looked back at the
monkey bars Nelly was gone, Well, where'd you go?
Speaker 1 (05:13):
Where'd who go? Nellie?
Speaker 2 (05:16):
Robbie replied by heading the ball straight into the back
of my head. The day after that, I was at
the shops with my mom when I spotted a kid
holding his own black letter. What were all of these letters?
And why were all the kids in town getting one?
No way I was letting this opportunity go past me.
I was determined to check it out, so determined that
(05:39):
I walked straight into the back of mom's shopping trolley. Lily,
the veins and Mom's temples were popping out, a sure
sign I was about three seconds away from feeling the
wrath of Mom's to do list. Sorry, sorry, sorry, I
rattled with the word out as quickly as I could.
Mom closed her eyes briefly and took a slow in heel.
It's okay, she breathed out. I'll go get the milk,
(06:01):
she said, you wait here. Perfect plan, I mumbled, keeping
the boy with the letter in my eye line. As
soon as Mom disappeared down an aisle, I caught up
to the boy. He stood like a statue in front
of a pyramid of washing detergent, and didn't even notice
when I walked right up behind him and peered over
his shoulder. As I looked at the paper, gold cursive
(06:22):
letters appeared one by one, as if tiny golden breadcrumbs
were being left. The lights in the supermarket flickered above
as a soft cackling echoed through the aisles. The boy's
heart raced, leads of sweat dripped down his spine, for
he knew the voice, he knew the laughter he had
dreamt of him before. Bells jingled softly from somewhere in
(06:44):
the shop, but the words continued to appear, and I
felt compelled to read. The medallion was warm in the
boy's hand, a stolen artifact eating into his palm. The
owner danced towards him, the bells along his shoes, jingling
softly in the distance.
Speaker 1 (07:00):
The jester had arrived. Roy.
Speaker 2 (07:03):
A man's sharp, gruff voice broke me from the spell. Startled,
I looked up to see a short, broad shouldered man
with more facial hair than face, clicking his fingers at
the boy in front of me. Roy, He said again,
The boy blinked back the words on paper and slowly
opened his palm, revealing a single silver medallion, the outline
of a clown with a three pointed hat etched into
(07:24):
the surface. Roy, hurry up, the man, agitated, said again.
Huh uh oh right, Roy mumbled, closing his fist the
medallion tight within it, before ambling forward on unsteady legs.
So sorry, dad, Roy and his dad disappeared down the
fruit section. Right his mom arrived with a gallon of
milk in her basket. Come on, lell we have two,
(07:46):
Mom paused. She must have noticed the sheen of sweat
across my forehead. Lil, are you okay?
Speaker 1 (07:54):
Um?
Speaker 2 (07:55):
Sure, I said, But I was the furthest thing from Okay.
It's weird, I told Robbi the next day, as we
sat on his front lawn, his bike upside down in
front of us. The letter it was about him, It
had his name in it. And I swear I heard
bells like Christmas bells, Robbie said, greasing the chain of
(08:17):
his bike. That's kind of festive. No, not like Christmas bells.
And it wasn't festive, Robbie laughed. What's the big hairy
deal about a letter. I picked at the grass, letting
the green blades fall through my fingers. I don't know,
it's just weird. The street was quiet, empty, even the
(08:40):
only noise coming from old Missus Crotchett as she watered
the flowers on her porch Afternoon and kids. Missus Crotchett's
voice wavered as she tried to project it across the fence.
Robbie and I waved back without really looking. Have you
seen Jade since the other day, I asked Robbie. His
brow wrinkled as he gave his wheel a good squeakless spin.
(09:01):
Who Robbie, Lily lunch? Missus Mitra called out from the
front room, the smell of cardamom and freshly cooked rice
wafting out the window. I pushed myself up from the lawn,
dusting the grass off my jeans. I just think there's
something weird going on. You think too much, said Robbie,
riding his bike and using his toe to flick out
(09:21):
the kickstand. Maybe, I said grimly. A few days later,
we sat in Robbie's dad's car, staring out into amber
Acre's farm. A field of pumpkins sprawled out before us.
All right, you two, Mister Mitro turned around in the
front seat. Nothing too big this year, okay? He looked
(09:42):
from me to Robbie, then back again. Robbie and I
looked at each other, firsting out laughing as we remembered
the ginormous pumpkins we had to roll over our front
doors last year, promised mister Mitra, I said. When I
finally got my giggles under control, Robbie threw his door
open first, and I wasn't far behind. Meet at the
front counter in twenty minutes, Mister Metro yelled at us,
(10:04):
as we ran through the front gates into the pumpkin field.
I thought of myself as a bit of a pumpkin connoisseur,
and I knew exactly what I wanted this year. The
pumpkin I chose had to be big and round, with
a perfectly flat bottom and smooth orange skin for carving.
I had already chosen the face I was going to carve,
big teeth with triangle eyes and sinister looking eyebrows. This way,
(10:29):
Robbie yelled, running to a patch near the main shed,
where a bunch of other kids were already looking. No, Robbie,
back here, I yelled back, heading to a quieter part
of the farm, where I knew i'd have more time
to look for the perfect pumpkin. Robbie had already disappeared
into the crowd of kids, and I shrugged. More for me, then,
I said, as I headed for some oversized, beastly looking
(10:51):
pumpkins that sat beneath a scraggly scarecrow. Afternoon, I said
to the scarecrow, nice shirt. The blue fannel shirt was
and torn, picked at by bugs and courageous birds. The
scarecrow's burlapsed, sack head lulled forward. Two black buttons were
sewn into the fabric as eyes, and thick black wool
was stitched into a haphazard mouth. Delightful, I mumbled to
(11:15):
myself as I started looking through the patch. It took
me just a few minutes to find the exact one
I was looking for. Perfect, I declared, as I knelt
into the cool dirt and picked up the best looking
golden orb. It was as wide as my arms and
had beautifully smoothed edges and a flat bottom. You'll do wonderfully,
I stood up, wondering if i'd need mister Mitra's help
(11:37):
to bring the pumpkin to the front counter when I
spotted a familiar looking black envelope poking out of the
scarecrow's pocket. A swirly curve of gold peeped out the top.
My mouth dried as the sounds of kids squealing and
laughing around me disappeared into a heavy silence. I was
sliding the letter out of the scarecrow's shirt before I'd
even really decided to read it. On the front of
(11:59):
the envelope, four letters in gold cursive lily. My hands
began to shake. How could it be addressed to me?
Speaker 1 (12:09):
Though?
Speaker 2 (12:09):
What else did I expected? I peeled open the envelope
and pulled out a folded piece of black paper. As
I opened it, it looked blank, but only for a second,
and then the words began to appear. The autumnal breeze
slithered through the pumpkin patch, sending goosebumps rippling across the
girl's skin. In the distance, children laughed and hollered as
(12:32):
they chose their spooky guardian for the season. The girl, however,
could not hear it. She stood alone in the patch
of golden gords. Vines spun through the dirt, weaving the
crop into a colage of oranges, browns, and greens. A
low whistle blew through the air, but the girl immersed
in the story didn't hear it. With her eyes down,
(12:55):
she missed the creature lift its head and dragged itself
from its wooden post. There was the thud behind me.
I heard it in some deep part of my brain,
but as more words appeared, I was helpless to the tale.
As she read the words inked on the page, the
creature rose on to its straw filled limbs. The stitches
across its mouth broke open, and a puff of stale,
(13:18):
musty breath escaped. By the time the girl turned around,
it would be too late. Ensnared in its grip, the
creature and the story would have already taken hold. Its
sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, all at once,
and when finally it whispered her name, she heard it. Lily, Lily.
(13:40):
A voice echoed in my head, and my spine turned
to jelly wait. I murmured, but the musty smell of
its breath had already surrounded me. A straw filled arms
clamped tightly around my chest. Lily, the scarecrow whispered, Lily.
(14:01):
Missus metro stood at the front door, arms crossed over
her chest. Way too big, she said, with a shake
of her head. Told you, said mister Mitra, as he
climbed the front steps to join his wife on the porch.
Robbie stood in the middle of the yard, clutching a
pumpkin twice the size of his head.
Speaker 1 (14:18):
No way, look how smooth it is. The face is
gonna go right here. It's perfect.
Speaker 2 (14:24):
I would have to agree, came Missus Crotchett's gravelly voice
from the sidewalk. She was cradling a black cat in
her arms as she hobbled down the street. Oh hello,
Missus Crotchett, Missus Metro said, giving her a big wave.
Lovely to see you out and about. Missus Crotchett looked
from Robbie to the empty car, then to the pumpkin
in his arms. The ears of her wrinkled lips curved
(14:47):
into a wicked grim. Just though on pumpkin today, she asked.
Robbie had never been scared of Missus Crotchett, the opposite, Really,
He'd always felt sorry for her, but something at the
back of his mind, and Missus Crotchett's grin made an
eerie shiver rolled down his spine. Uh yeah, he swallowed
(15:09):
just the wood. The old lady chuckled to herself. I
just love Halloween, best time of the year. Really, thank you.
Speaker 1 (15:24):
For listening to micro Terrors. Join us each Saturday for
another scary story. For more fun, visit our website at
microterrors dot com, where you can get the latest micro
Terrors news, read fun facts about each story, sign up
for our monthly newsletter, and even send in your own
(15:45):
scary story for us to tell. Plus, you can become
one of the Terrified by joining the fan club at
microterrors dot com. You enjoy exclusive perks like reading stories
a week early, receiving complimentary books, and communicating directly with
micro Terrors writer and creator Scott Donnelly. You can also
(16:08):
follow us on Facebook and Instagram using the handle at microterrors.
I hope you'll join us again soon for Microterrors scary
stories for kids.
Welcome to micro Terrors, scary stories for kids where it's
always the spooky season, full of chills, thrills and spine
tingling spooks. Micro Terrors are family friendly frights for those
(00:37):
ages eight and up, and while our stories are for
younger years, we are still talking about things that go
bump in the night, and some children may not be
able to handle what others can. Parental consent is recommended
now for tonights micro Terror.
Speaker 2 (01:04):
The best time of Year by Fiona Cosgrove. The first
letter arrived with the first pumpkin. I was walking down
the footpath toward my best friend Robbie's, when Missus Crotchett,
his very elderly neighbor, called out from our house. Nighty, lilyly.
I waved back, watching nervously as the old lady teetered
(01:25):
on the top step of her porch. Good morning, Missus Crotchett.
She was bent over her stoop, positioning an old plastic
pumpkin on our top step. The pumpkin and Missus Crotchett
had both seen better days. The faded orange of the
Halloween icon was being taken over with a black mold,
and half its face was carved in as if a
flame had got a little too close and melted the plastic.
(01:48):
Missus Crotchett, though free of mold, somehow looked just as melted.
Her skin was loose and drooping, and her eyes perpetually
looked like they were about to close. Looking far back
to Hallow Lily, missus Crotchett asked, as I opened the
squeaky gate that led to Robbie's house. You bet I am,
I smiled back. Robbie was doing up the shoelaces on
(02:09):
the driveway. You bet we are, he corrected me. Do
you have your pumpkins yet? Missus Crotchett's voice quivered as
if her voice box was an old radio and it
was dropping in and out of reception. Not yet, I replied.
We're going up to Amber Acres in a few days.
She smiled, her lips looking so paper thin, I worried
(02:29):
they might flake right off. What a wonderful idea, children.
She paused for a second, looking up at the amber
leaves spreading across the maple tree in her front yard.
Then finally, she said, Halloween really is the best time
of the year. Missus Crotchett gave us a final nod
before making the slow return back to her front door.
(02:51):
Man Robbie whispered, pulling the last of his shoelaces tight.
Missus Crotchett must be at least six hundred years old
or more.
Speaker 1 (03:00):
I agreed.
Speaker 2 (03:01):
I thought she was a witch when we first moved in.
You know, she has a black cat. I rolled my
eyes and a broomstick. I guess called it out the back.
Robbie smirked. I clicked my fingers. Is that what always
smells so delicious around here? Stewed children? Robbie nodded. Got
to get the merit aid just right, I nodded, in solidarity.
(03:24):
Recipes are hard to perfect it all seriousness, though, sometimes
I worry you she'll fall right down those stairs. It
shall just burst into a cloud of skeletal dust. I
shivered at the thought. Hey, it's Jade. Robbie nodded to
the footpath where our friend Jade was walking past her,
head down, a black piece of paper clutched in her hands. Hi, Jade,
(03:47):
I called out, but she kept on walking. Uh hello,
Robbie yelled, but she didn't even flinch. We watched Jade
continue down the road, disappearing in the distance. The orange
archway of trees. What was that all about, I asked,
Maybe she did it tear us. Robbie shrugged, race you
(04:08):
to the baseball courts. I pretended to sigh and shake
my head. Then, when he wasn't looking, I took off.
Speaker 1 (04:14):
At a run.
Speaker 2 (04:15):
Loser makes the other lunch, I yelled over my shoulder
to her, red faced Robbie. It wasn't until the next day,
when Robbie and I took my soccer ball down to
the oval. Then I saw a second letter. A girl
from our school, Nelly, was sitting on the monkey bars
by herself, reading from a black piece of paper. Her
eyes were studiously running across the page, her bottom lip
(04:36):
tucked nervously behind her top teeth. I tapped Robbie on
the shoulder. That's the same kind of letter Jade had yesterday,
isn't it. Robbie didn't even bother looking up.
Speaker 1 (04:47):
What the letter? Remember?
Speaker 2 (04:50):
Wind whipped past my head as Robbie kicked a soccer
ball right over my shoulder, grazing the ends of my
black hair. Hey, I said, watch it. You're the one
who wasn't watching. He laughed back, get it, I aimed.
The next few kicks directly at Robbie, but he dodged
them easily. Breathless and annoyed, I looked back at the
monkey bars Nelly was gone, Well, where'd you go?
Speaker 1 (05:13):
Where'd who go? Nellie?
Speaker 2 (05:16):
Robbie replied by heading the ball straight into the back
of my head. The day after that, I was at
the shops with my mom when I spotted a kid
holding his own black letter. What were all of these letters?
And why were all the kids in town getting one?
No way I was letting this opportunity go past me.
I was determined to check it out, so determined that
(05:39):
I walked straight into the back of mom's shopping trolley. Lily,
the veins and Mom's temples were popping out, a sure
sign I was about three seconds away from feeling the
wrath of Mom's to do list. Sorry, sorry, sorry, I
rattled with the word out as quickly as I could.
Mom closed her eyes briefly and took a slow in heel.
It's okay, she breathed out. I'll go get the milk,
(06:01):
she said, you wait here. Perfect plan, I mumbled, keeping
the boy with the letter in my eye line. As
soon as Mom disappeared down an aisle, I caught up
to the boy. He stood like a statue in front
of a pyramid of washing detergent, and didn't even notice
when I walked right up behind him and peered over
his shoulder. As I looked at the paper, gold cursive
(06:22):
letters appeared one by one, as if tiny golden breadcrumbs
were being left. The lights in the supermarket flickered above
as a soft cackling echoed through the aisles. The boy's
heart raced, leads of sweat dripped down his spine, for
he knew the voice, he knew the laughter he had
dreamt of him before. Bells jingled softly from somewhere in
(06:44):
the shop, but the words continued to appear, and I
felt compelled to read. The medallion was warm in the
boy's hand, a stolen artifact eating into his palm. The
owner danced towards him, the bells along his shoes, jingling
softly in the distance.
Speaker 1 (07:00):
The jester had arrived. Roy.
Speaker 2 (07:03):
A man's sharp, gruff voice broke me from the spell. Startled,
I looked up to see a short, broad shouldered man
with more facial hair than face, clicking his fingers at
the boy in front of me. Roy, He said again,
The boy blinked back the words on paper and slowly
opened his palm, revealing a single silver medallion, the outline
of a clown with a three pointed hat etched into
(07:24):
the surface. Roy, hurry up, the man, agitated, said again.
Huh uh oh right, Roy mumbled, closing his fist the
medallion tight within it, before ambling forward on unsteady legs.
So sorry, dad, Roy and his dad disappeared down the
fruit section. Right his mom arrived with a gallon of
milk in her basket. Come on, lell we have two,
(07:46):
Mom paused. She must have noticed the sheen of sweat
across my forehead. Lil, are you okay?
Speaker 1 (07:54):
Um?
Speaker 2 (07:55):
Sure, I said, But I was the furthest thing from Okay.
It's weird, I told Robbi the next day, as we
sat on his front lawn, his bike upside down in
front of us. The letter it was about him, It
had his name in it. And I swear I heard
bells like Christmas bells, Robbie said, greasing the chain of
(08:17):
his bike. That's kind of festive. No, not like Christmas bells.
And it wasn't festive, Robbie laughed. What's the big hairy
deal about a letter. I picked at the grass, letting
the green blades fall through my fingers. I don't know,
it's just weird. The street was quiet, empty, even the
(08:40):
only noise coming from old Missus Crotchett as she watered
the flowers on her porch Afternoon and kids. Missus Crotchett's
voice wavered as she tried to project it across the fence.
Robbie and I waved back without really looking. Have you
seen Jade since the other day, I asked Robbie. His
brow wrinkled as he gave his wheel a good squeakless spin.
(09:01):
Who Robbie, Lily lunch? Missus Mitra called out from the
front room, the smell of cardamom and freshly cooked rice
wafting out the window. I pushed myself up from the lawn,
dusting the grass off my jeans. I just think there's
something weird going on. You think too much, said Robbie,
riding his bike and using his toe to flick out
(09:21):
the kickstand. Maybe, I said grimly. A few days later,
we sat in Robbie's dad's car, staring out into amber
Acre's farm. A field of pumpkins sprawled out before us.
All right, you two, Mister Mitro turned around in the
front seat. Nothing too big this year, okay? He looked
(09:42):
from me to Robbie, then back again. Robbie and I
looked at each other, firsting out laughing as we remembered
the ginormous pumpkins we had to roll over our front
doors last year, promised mister Mitra, I said. When I
finally got my giggles under control, Robbie threw his door
open first, and I wasn't far behind. Meet at the
front counter in twenty minutes, Mister Metro yelled at us,
(10:04):
as we ran through the front gates into the pumpkin field.
I thought of myself as a bit of a pumpkin connoisseur,
and I knew exactly what I wanted this year. The
pumpkin I chose had to be big and round, with
a perfectly flat bottom and smooth orange skin for carving.
I had already chosen the face I was going to carve,
big teeth with triangle eyes and sinister looking eyebrows. This way,
(10:29):
Robbie yelled, running to a patch near the main shed,
where a bunch of other kids were already looking. No, Robbie,
back here, I yelled back, heading to a quieter part
of the farm, where I knew i'd have more time
to look for the perfect pumpkin. Robbie had already disappeared
into the crowd of kids, and I shrugged. More for me, then,
I said, as I headed for some oversized, beastly looking
(10:51):
pumpkins that sat beneath a scraggly scarecrow. Afternoon, I said
to the scarecrow, nice shirt. The blue fannel shirt was
and torn, picked at by bugs and courageous birds. The
scarecrow's burlapsed, sack head lulled forward. Two black buttons were
sewn into the fabric as eyes, and thick black wool
was stitched into a haphazard mouth. Delightful, I mumbled to
(11:15):
myself as I started looking through the patch. It took
me just a few minutes to find the exact one
I was looking for. Perfect, I declared, as I knelt
into the cool dirt and picked up the best looking
golden orb. It was as wide as my arms and
had beautifully smoothed edges and a flat bottom. You'll do wonderfully,
I stood up, wondering if i'd need mister Mitra's help
(11:37):
to bring the pumpkin to the front counter when I
spotted a familiar looking black envelope poking out of the
scarecrow's pocket. A swirly curve of gold peeped out the top.
My mouth dried as the sounds of kids squealing and
laughing around me disappeared into a heavy silence. I was
sliding the letter out of the scarecrow's shirt before I'd
even really decided to read it. On the front of
(11:59):
the envelope, four letters in gold cursive lily. My hands
began to shake. How could it be addressed to me?
Speaker 1 (12:09):
Though?
Speaker 2 (12:09):
What else did I expected? I peeled open the envelope
and pulled out a folded piece of black paper. As
I opened it, it looked blank, but only for a second,
and then the words began to appear. The autumnal breeze
slithered through the pumpkin patch, sending goosebumps rippling across the
girl's skin. In the distance, children laughed and hollered as
(12:32):
they chose their spooky guardian for the season. The girl, however,
could not hear it. She stood alone in the patch
of golden gords. Vines spun through the dirt, weaving the
crop into a colage of oranges, browns, and greens. A
low whistle blew through the air, but the girl immersed
in the story didn't hear it. With her eyes down,
(12:55):
she missed the creature lift its head and dragged itself
from its wooden post. There was the thud behind me.
I heard it in some deep part of my brain,
but as more words appeared, I was helpless to the tale.
As she read the words inked on the page, the
creature rose on to its straw filled limbs. The stitches
across its mouth broke open, and a puff of stale,
(13:18):
musty breath escaped. By the time the girl turned around,
it would be too late. Ensnared in its grip, the
creature and the story would have already taken hold. Its
sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, all at once,
and when finally it whispered her name, she heard it. Lily, Lily.
(13:40):
A voice echoed in my head, and my spine turned
to jelly wait. I murmured, but the musty smell of
its breath had already surrounded me. A straw filled arms
clamped tightly around my chest. Lily, the scarecrow whispered, Lily.
(14:01):
Missus metro stood at the front door, arms crossed over
her chest. Way too big, she said, with a shake
of her head. Told you, said mister Mitra, as he
climbed the front steps to join his wife on the porch.
Robbie stood in the middle of the yard, clutching a
pumpkin twice the size of his head.
Speaker 1 (14:18):
No way, look how smooth it is. The face is
gonna go right here. It's perfect.
Speaker 2 (14:24):
I would have to agree, came Missus Crotchett's gravelly voice
from the sidewalk. She was cradling a black cat in
her arms as she hobbled down the street. Oh hello,
Missus Crotchett, Missus Metro said, giving her a big wave.
Lovely to see you out and about. Missus Crotchett looked
from Robbie to the empty car, then to the pumpkin
in his arms. The ears of her wrinkled lips curved
(14:47):
into a wicked grim. Just though on pumpkin today, she asked.
Robbie had never been scared of Missus Crotchett, the opposite, Really,
He'd always felt sorry for her, but something at the
back of his mind, and Missus Crotchett's grin made an
eerie shiver rolled down his spine. Uh yeah, he swallowed
(15:09):
just the wood. The old lady chuckled to herself. I
just love Halloween, best time of the year. Really, thank you.
Speaker 1 (15:24):
For listening to micro Terrors. Join us each Saturday for
another scary story. For more fun, visit our website at
microterrors dot com, where you can get the latest micro
Terrors news, read fun facts about each story, sign up
for our monthly newsletter, and even send in your own
(15:45):
scary story for us to tell. Plus, you can become
one of the Terrified by joining the fan club at
microterrors dot com. You enjoy exclusive perks like reading stories
a week early, receiving complimentary books, and communicating directly with
micro Terrors writer and creator Scott Donnelly. You can also
(16:08):
follow us on Facebook and Instagram using the handle at microterrors.
I hope you'll join us again soon for Microterrors scary
stories for kids.
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