Short horror stories

Avatar

I don't know what to say. It's uncanny. The thing staring out the screen at me is... well, me.

My buddy Michael is a master of character creation, always has been. But recently Dead Rot, his favorite open-world zombie-survival game, released a mod patch giving users complete design control over their avatars. Now it's become an artform. An obsession. Friends, family, celebrities; no one is safe from his controller. He's even stopped playing to win, content to subject his creations to the most creative fates he can. It's actually really fun to watch.

But this... this is something else. I mean he's really outdone himself. This is me. The part of my hair, the slant of my nose, even the scar on my chin... It's a perfect likeness. I'm not sure if I'm more impressed or freaked out, so I quickly excuse myself to my room before I have to decide.

I sit down at my desk and turn my mind to my history paper. I become engrossed in my typing, but after a few minutes I feel a sharp pain on the back of my neck. My hand instinctively shoots up and smacks the spot, but comes back clean. Darn bugs. I get up to close the window, but don't get three steps before something clamps down on my forearm. I look down to where a large welt has already begun to form, but again I've apparently missed it.

My eyes dart around the room, looking for whatever creature is using me for food. Listening for that infuriating hum that heralds the presence of an angry insect. The room is bare and silent. I back up to the wall and reach down for my bat, ready to swing at anything that moves. That's when there's a tearing at my shoulder and I feel blood begin to soak through my shirt.

Enough is enough. I dart into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind me. I stumble toward the living room, stopping in the doorway. "Hey Mike, something's in my room, it-"

I stop, my open mouth no longer interested in making a sound. I see my doppelganger on the screen, a pistol clenched in his fist and a scattering of large black corpses around his feet. His shoulder is oozing a river of bright red blood.

Michael turns to me, his face cracked in a crazed grin.

"You're just in time, man. I made it past those damned mutant crows. But you're in for it now; the hoard just saw you! These are beefy suckers too. This is gonna be so good..."

My avatar turns to look me in the eye.

"...they are gonna tear you apart!"