You’re reading The Round Table, the only newspaper where I submit my radio material when our recording equipment decides it hates us and backfires. I’m Betty Cavicchia, and for once I have some people even more beautiful and talented than me writing my material. That’s right, I’ve got the results of The Round Table’s much-promoted second annual two-sentence horror story contest! We have three awards being given out—Humorously Horrific for the best comedic horror story, Truly Terrifying for the most chilling serious horror story, and Best Bonechiller for that one truly special piece from either end of the spectrum that exemplifies the best of the best in this contest.
As a side note, readers, this year’s entrants have been particularly creative with the two-sentence constraints. Many of these stories will seem like they fit within the given length, but trust me when I say that semi-colons and em dashes have been used strategically in order to guarantee that these stories stay within two sentences. Now, moving on to highlight our lovely participants…
It was a good year for humor, readers! Our first humorous entry, from Finn Waterman’26, reads as follows: “My stomach began to churn and I felt my heart sink as I rushed towards the bathroom. I watch as a man stepped into the last available stall as everything went brown.” Listen, pooping yourself is hardly the worst thing that could happen to you here. At least now you can claim you’re simply a disciple of Kaitlin Bennett and curry some favor with those cringefail freshmen who tried to start Turning Point Beloit, which was about as short-lived as…well…huh, I can’t really think of a good analogy.
Continuing with the potty humor, we have an entry from John Grey’27—who, might I add, submitted four separate entries, earning them the unofficial title of Submissions Georg. Anyway… ”The heat builds around me as I claw at my throat in desperation, unable to breathe through the noxious, acerbic fumes. “Oh, God, please…” I screech, catapulting myself through the open elevator doors, the heavyset man still smirking inside.” As a former Aldrich resident, all I can say is that the theme of forced hotboxing of body odor in the elevators hits close to home for me. Beats the mold, at least.
Next up for fearful funny business, we have Claire Winter’28, ruler of the Real World and now a finalist in my humble contest. Claire writes, ““I don’t give my consents to be stabbed,” I saids to the Stabby Man with terror. Stabby Man was a sigma male who respected my wishes and instead shots me thirty five times in the head.” Whoa, someone took the mandatory consent course! I wonder if Stabby Man would have also accepted “I think I’m allergic to knives” as a revocation of consent.
To round off our Humorously Horrific runners-up, we have Ellie Anderson’28, who keeps it short and simple: ““I’m so evil, no one is eviler than me!” Said Evil Kevin. “What’s up” said Kevin.” You know, I’m so sick and twisted in the head that Evil Kevin is just Normal Kevin to me.
And now, for the winner of our Humorously Horrific award…Casey Barasch’26, with the following dirge of dormitory doom: “I live in Haven, and one of the residents keeps hotboxing the entire floor and screaming at the top of their lungs about “jorking it sexual style” every night, so I finally decided to confront them about it. I crept down the hall to their door, raised my fist to knock, but stopped suddenly when I read the door tag, “Randi Mogul, ResLife Director.”” Congratulations, Casey! You win a spooky little Halloween bead bracelet kit. As for the story, well…I used to think the trivia emails were annoying, but now I’m counting my blessings that they’re not about Randi Mogul’s gooning habits. There’s something you could never get from ChatGPT.
Now, for the dark depths of the Truly Terrifying category, whose participation this year fell somewhat to the wayside. I’d still like to highlight the three finalist entries…two of which are, again, John Grey, who at this point might as well be credited as a co-organizer. John’s two contributions to this category are as follows: “They typically arrive after nightfall, their hungry, rancid tendrils writhing as they find purchase, tenaciously seeking any soft openings they may find. I try to scream, but their invisible touch mutes and masks any expression, and no one ever believes me.” Terrifying stuff, and also probably an apt description of the average Sig party, what with the tenacious seeking of soft openings. Also from John, “Get out of my house!” she screams, frantically digging through the contents of her handbag for a pistol that’s no longer there. “I love you, Mom,” I softly reply, holding back tears as I turn to leave the nursing home for the last time.” Memory loss has been a prevalent theme in horror of the last few years, with good reason—what’s more terrifying than seeing someone you love lose parts of themselves? That being said, bold to assume Meemaw doesn’t need to keep that thang on her to solve shuffleboard disputes.
And for our winner of the Truly Terrifying category…Madison Burdick’28! Madison writes: “On an abandoned side street during the hour of the highest moon–its lustrious glow now cloaked by thick clouds of fog–she stood alone. Unaware was she of the observant, pearly eyes and the putrid yellow teeth that bore the shape of sharpened cones dripping crimson blood, that remained hidden by the darkened image of night in a nearby bush.” Evocative, suspenseful, and versatile! I could just as easily imagine this being some incomprehensible horror, or, like, a really messed up stray cat. Congratulations, Madison—for the horror you’ve crafted, you’ve won a glow in the dark haunted house craft kit!
And now, the moment you’ve waited for, for the title of Best Bonechiller, the ultimate award from both realms of horror, the—ah, what the hell, it’s John Grey coming in with the steel chair again. But hey, you got the goods writing-wise, you get the goods prize-wise, quantity be damned. John writes, “He looks into the mist and sees a hairy thing between the trees; but when he turns and tries to flee, he hears the words, “No, wait, sir, please.” He turns to face the raspy sound — upon its head a bramble crown, soft lips of rouge, and silky gown: “Please, sir,” it says, “a kiss, renowned?”” You know, this is the second year in a row we’ve had some sort of sexy creature entry. Get this cosmically terrifying girlie an Instagram page already! And John, for your efforts in this contest that proved to contain both quantity and quality, you win the ultimate prize: a melty bead kit, to create whatever your twisted mind desires. Congratulations, and thanks for providing the sort of fanatical devotion to my work for The Round Table that I usually only see from my parents.
I’d like to once again thank our lovely participants, and sign off with my own horror story: “I see someone doing a Bell Run, streaking naked through the night. Then they turn around, and I see the face of Eric Boynton.” Now, this is just a work of fiction, but the scariest things are those that could technically happen. Chills!
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