Hi everyone, as Halloween is coming up, here are some stories guaranteed to give you shivers. As usual, they are not for the faint of heart, so don’t read them by yourself. Write your scary stories in the comment section.
BURIED
The nonprofit was small and scrappy. The staff prided themselves on being resourceful, so they always took whatever free stuff that was offered and hardly ever threw anything away. A pallet of math text books. 3,000 swag pens from another org that had shuttered. 200 infinity scarves.
One day, their event coordinator went missing, his phone left behind mysteriously at his cubicle. For days the community searched for him, with no signs of his whereabouts. Sometimes, though, the staff could swear they heard pounding or scratching coming from the walls.
One evening, the ED was working late when her pen stopped working. She decided to go get out some of the swag pens in the supply closet. As she opened the closet, a feeling of dread and horror overwhelmed her.
For inside, lying on the floor behind boxes of 20-year-old gala program booklets, was the event coordinator. She screamed.
“What? What?!” said the event coordinator, sitting up. “Oh thank goodness,” he said, “I accidentally locked myself in here. I tried to yell and pound the walls for help, but these 300 D.A.R.E To Keep Kids Off Drugs teddy bears absorbed the sounds. I’ve been surviving on these jars of beets that expired in 1994.”
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” said the ED, laughing, relieved, “our luncheon is next week!”
PERPETUITY
A cold wind blew across the barren field. The sky was hazy with layers of dust. The ice had all melted. Plants and animals became extinct. Democracy had fallen, and desperate people had turned on one another until almost all of humankind was wiped out. The few surviving humans were scattered, hope drained out of them, leaving hollow, empty expressions. They no longer remembered what day it was, or even what year.
Deep underground, in their bunker, several people were huddled. They were the trustees of a foundation that was once large and influential. “Things are getting bad out there,” said one trustee, “acid rain continues to fall. Nothing grows. The water is almost all toxic now. I move we increase our payout rate from 5% to 10%.”
They looked at one another. Someone sighed heavily. The vote was called for. All but one trustee voted to keep the payout rate at 5%. After all, there would be problems in the future, and so they needed to exist in perpetuity.
THE WALL
It was the annual company day of service, a time when the Corporate Social Responsibility team picked a nonprofit organization to send three dozen employees to. This year, the CSR team picked a youth-serving organization to partner with. They divided into groups to tackle various tasks. One of the groups would be painting a large wall. For hours they worked, removing stains and graffiti and then painting the wall white with several coats of paint.
Steven, however, had an uneasy feeling throughout the activity, like something wasn’t right. The feeling did not go away as they finished, and the small group of beaming employees stood and took pictures, proud of their work.
As the day ended and darkness fell, everyone took off. Steven drove off but something told him to turn back. As he rounded the corner, his eyes grew wide in shock. Several of the nonprofit’s staff were throwing mud and dirt on the wall and tagging it with fresh graffiti. His heart was thumping fast in his chest. As he rolled down his window to get some air, he could hear the faint, eerie voice of one of the staff:
“We tried to tell them we don’t need three dozen volunteers in one day. But they insisted, and we need the sponsorship. Let’s make this wall extra grimy again. There’s another corporate group coming next week for a day of service.”
53
It was a dreary autumn day. A light rain fell, cutting through a mist that clung to leafless trees like a wet veil. Inside her tiny office, the development director was opening mail. It wasn’t the midst of a fundraising campaign, but donors still sent in donations once a while, especially as the holidays approached and people’s sense of generosity heightened. She opened a letter and found a check for $800. There was a sweet note inside, written in neat cursive:
“This year, instead of buying presents for my friends and family and partaking in consumerism and materialism, I decided to contribute money to your organization instead. Thank you for the incredible work you all do.”
The development director’s heart melted. And then it froze as a vein of pure terror shot down her spine, and her mouth opened in a muffled scream.
“PS: Enclosed are 53 names and addresses. Please send each person a handwritten acknowledgement letter. Thank you.”
