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 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. Stench of the Grubs by
Scott Donnelly. The warm air of spring came in through my open bedroom window
once the cold weather broke from the wintertime. It was refreshing to leave my
window open at night in the spring before it got too hot in the summer.
The fresh air circulated throughout my room, killing off any remaining flu seasoned
germs that may have been hanging on for dear life, and closed my personal
space for the upcoming months. The best thing about the warm, fresh spring
air flowing through my room was that it carried the scent of freshly cut grass.
It was the best smell in the world outside of punkin spice in the
fall and apple cinnamon in the winter. It was a scent I looked forward
to every single year, because by the third or fourth week of the mowing
season, my senses were just used to it and it wasn't just excited or
entrancing anymore. But this was the first week of spring, and a few
of our neighbors had cut their grass, including my dad. We had a
great lawn, lush green, and was strong with the fresh cut grass smell.
But as I lay in bed after the sun had set, drifting off
to sleep and letting the comforting aromas of spring infiltrate all of my senses,
something immediately went awry. The fresh smell was overpowered out of nowhere by a
sour, dirty odor. I sniffed my senses just as annoyed as I was.
I sat up in bed and watched my curtains flutter in the light breeze,
a breeze that had been tainted somehow by something putrid. But from what
I tried to think back throughout the day, it was tomorrow trash day that
a raccoon died under someone's porch. That was always a possibility to the great
raccoon death we experienced last summer, where want had somehow found its way into
our shed and died I would have immediately recognized the smell. It wasn't a
dead animal either, Wait the shed that was it? Of course, that
had to be it. After my dad mode he put down a bag of
lawn fertilizer to help give our yard a good shine, as he called it.
He said the fertilizer had gone bad somehow, even though that stuff doesn't
usually expire. From what I understood, he said there were small, moldy
plops throughout the bag. As he described them. He said the plops were
sticky and kind of looked like yogurt covered raisins. When I questioned why he
touched them, he said he wasn't really thinking. I just used his hands
to spread the fertilizer around the yard like he was salting a sidewalk in the
winter. None of that sounded safe, given all the chemicals involved in fertilizer
and the salty ice smell, not to mention these new, mysterious plops that
were now involved. But I trusted that my dad knew what he was doing.
Hopefully, maybe whatever the plops were was what had been emitting the awful
stench that was starting to make me gag. Usually with such an odor,
i'd instruct someone to open a window. Well, this was the exact opposite
situation. I climbed out of bed and trotted across my room to the window.
I pulled the curtains aside and placed my hands on the sash to close
it to seal off the odor from completely ruining my life. There was no
way I was going to be inhaling lawn plops all night long. I stopped.
The yard below my window caught my eye. Under the dull glow of
the street lamp at the curb, I could see our yard was moving,
squirming. I squinted, trying to make out exactly what was in motion.
Down there was still too dark. I tried my best to focus, but
all I could really make out were no I must have been seeing things.
There looked to be dozens of white things crawling about in the yard. They
were the size of small dogs. Their movements emitted wet, squelching noises.
The odor became stronger, overpowering my senses. I removed my hands from the
sash and covered my mouth and nose. And then one of the things slapped
its wet, slimy body against the outside of the windowsill. I jumped back
and gasped. It was huge, definitely the size of a small dog.
It hung half in my room, half outside, but desperately cried to crawl
in with its six scraggly legs. Its body was white, ribbed, slightly
translucent, and curled back like a raw shrimp. Its head and face were
a bright rust color with antenna and mandibles. I couldn't believe my eyes.
It was a grub, but a mutated, massive monster grub. Without words,
I stumbled backwards, tripping over loose legos, scattered toys in my aluminum
baseball bat. I fell on my butt and watched the mutant bug slap its
body down into my room, onto the carpet, and wriggled itself into a
position where it stared me down. I know it's hard to believe and might
come across as me just capitalizing on the surreal moment I was in, But
something deep down inside told me that one day I would face off against a
mutant bug. Maybe this was fate, or maybe it was a momentary,
irrational thought. Either way, I reached for my baseball bat and stood up.
I smirked out of the corner of my mouth as the hideous grub monster
inched toward me. In little league, they call me the Slugger, I
equipped, emphasizing the slug part of the falsified nickname. I hadn't thought the
one liner out very well, saying as how it wasn't the slug I was
facing off against but a grub. The grubber didn't sound threatening, though it
sounded like the nickname of a guy who only went to the mall to hit
up the food court. Either way, it was batters up. I swung
and blasted the grub. The creature burst on impact, splatting white and rust
colored goo all over my room. I looked around and shock. But then
something at the window caught my eye. It was grubs. They were flopping
into my room left and right. I counted three, four, five.
They just kept coming. They all wanted to turn up to bat Then allowed
thud smacked the outside of my bedroom door. Sun My dad called in distress.
In his voice, Dad, I responded, stay out, there are
grubs everywhere in here. So my dad uttered again, only weaker and more
feeble. Something was wrong, and the grubs infiltrated his room too. Had
they gotten mom? I watched more grubs fall in through the window as they
writhed on the floor, all preparing their march toward me to grub me up,
or whatever they do. I figured I had a split second to open
the door for my dad. I lifted the bat and let it rest on
my shoulder, grub goo dripping from the end cap and onto the floor.
I turned the knob and pulled the door open. A massive grub, the
size of a full grown man, lurched upright at the threshold of my room.
My body shivered in fear, my teeth shattering. I stared into the
rust colored face. Seeing my dad's face mutated within it. I shouldn't have
touched those plops, he gargled. I shook my head. No, I
mumbled and uttered disbelief. No, you shouldn't have. Without warning, the
awareness of my dad was gone, and the savagery of the grub emerged.
Its body heaved forward, mandible snapping, swallowed my roaring screens. Thank you
for listening to micro Terrors. Join us each Saturday for another scary story.
For more fun, visit our website at microterrors dot com, where we will
also have spooky games you can print out and play, like Wicked word searches,
mysterious mazes and more. Microterrors dot com is also where you can find
us on your favorite social media and even send in your own scary story for
us to tell. Plus, you'll learn more about our author, Scott Donnelly,
who has other horror for both young and old. I hope you'll join
me again soon for micro Terrors scary stories for kids