I’m feeling all tingly inside. I wish I hadn’t eaten that spider.
You swallowed the spider to catch the fly, and I don’t know why you swallowed the fly. Perhaps you’ll die.
Right before he died, my grandfather stared at me with his one good eye, the other decimated long ago by a dynamite accident that claimed half of his face. He said, “Billy, I don’t believe in ghosts; I’m certain of them, and soon, you will be certain too.”
“Aldrin, this is Houston; you’re reporting a possible equipment malfunction during EVA?”
“Roger, that, Houston, you wouldn’t believe the size of the wad of bubblegum I just stepp…WAIT A MINUTE!”
“Haw, haw, Mister Clown, I know you can’t come out of the sewer to get me, so I’m just gonna stand right here, in the middle of the street, and you can just have that paper boat, you jerk,” Nelson sneered at the baleful yellow eyes in the storm drain.
Seconds later, the manhole cover at his feet blew into the air, taking some skin off his nose; the creature rose from the hole and Nelson’s yellow rain slicker went completely crimson, then all that was left was one Keds sneaker – the left – in the road.
I had this dream last night, you know, the kind that begins innocently enough but then it starts to slip away from you, and you’re along for the ride because you can’t wake up, but you should really wake up, because you know it’s only going to get worse, and then things start to happen that make no sense but you still can’t wake up because you’re somehow tied to this illucid reality and it won’t let you wake up, and you’re screaming inside your head, trying to shake yourself awake, but you stay with the dream because deep down, you really want to be there, you want to follow it wherever it leads, to whatever terror awaits ahead, and you’re feeling queasy, with a knot in your stomach that won’t go away, it only grows, and you know, you absolutely know without any uncertainty that something awful is about to happen, something that you should not be witnessing, but it’s there and you can’t look away, and then this shadow grows from a small point to envelop you and squeeze you and speak, dear God it’s speaking in this horrible tongue from deep within your psyche, these words that aren’t words, filling your ears, your mind, and —
your phone rings and you wake up, and breathe, thank God it was only a dream, it wasn’t real, but then you realize you’re awake and it’s here with you.
And you scream.
“But you said these mushrooms were edible!”, I whispered while groaning in agonizing pain.
And the last words I heard were “Well, you ate them, didn’t you?”
I’d still prefer it if you put on some pants.
I think you want the “One-Sentence Horror Story” thread there.
Groping for the light switch, she thought anything would be better than not knowing what was making that hideous sound in the darkness.
She was wrong.
I’ll have you know that I’m always wearing pants. On my head.
Let’s see: Two sentences, pretty horrific. Yeah, it’ll do.
While knoodling. That sounds plenty horrific to me. 
I will haunt your dreams. Think about that.
Something was in the back seat of my car the other night. It had two heads, four buttocks, eight legs and it shouted, “Oh, God,” a lot – I think it was trying to reproduce.
Trump is elected POTUS. Again.
Four-eleven in the AM; a six day streak of sleeping straight through to the alarm goes off has been broken, thanks to Taco Bell, and I’m sitting in everyone’s favorite position – taking care of business – trying not to nod off, as that could be extremely nasty and messy… .
Did something just tap me on the fundament?
Lobsters in the sewer. Giant radioactive lobsters.
Here I was, strapped into this chair, electrode affixed to an ankle, skull cap on my head, watching the clock on the wall tick off the last few moments of my life, waiting for that phone to ring.
When it did ring, a few seconds later, and was answered by the warden, my heart leapt into my mouth – until he said, “Sorry, wrong number,” cradled the hand-set and bellowed, “Roll on Two!”