Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi @ErinAlMehairi @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM10

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Longing of the Crow
by Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi

The crow sits on his perch to
tell the tale, of a beautiful princess
who is set to be wed.
From the mountaintop he ponders
each beau, but he longs to be her
one and only amore.
Decades ago he was blessed with
magic, from a Danish white witch
with a penchant for black feathers.
Now in his refuge on a German hilltop,
he vibrates with power upon the rock,
and the spells come to warmth,
what were once dormant and lost.
He spreads his wings to the chilling wind,
flies over evergreen treetops and vale,
and then lands on her window ledge,
quiet and unafraid.
“Madame,” he speaks.
Wide-eyed, she turns.
“A talking bird,” she chuckles,
as if it’s not even absurd.
“I noticed your suitors, quite
feeble, poor, and rude. Might
I offer you assistance in choosing
someone braver, bold, and true?”
The maiden threw her dark braid
to the side, and ran the back of her
hand over her forehead in a sigh.
“I am lonely but will be alone must
I demise, for living in a loveless marriage
is not something I surmise. But
how can a bird, just a bird, help me
to recover from this madness?”
The raven tilted his head, watching
his princess with longing, and then
he told her his magic, that his feathers
would transform him.
“Pluck out a feather for each suitor
that comes. With the inkwell write
a letter before they arrive, whatever
you write they will be bound to do—
so write them a fortune that is more
hers than his, send them away with
a flick of your new pen.”
The princess, delighted in the bird’s
easy plot, quickly strode over in slippers
of silver and blue, and pulled out a feather
before the first caller of the day came amused.
While the freckled, fair maiden set to her
new duty, her brush strokes admonishing and
encouraging the men to work, plunder, or war,
the crow fled from the window, alighting below.
Each time a suitor arrived for the princess,
he walked out the door after a surprising occurrence,
he smiled as if fortune befell him that day,
though in reality he lost in his request from the missive.
Without warning, the raven landed his sharp claws;
he drew crimson, stabbing eyeballs swiftly,
with a murderous disdain and cause.
Acting in rage and blind devotion,
he had one task in mind,
he’d not stop until he was human.
Driving the sharp end of his beak into organs,
he wrote the end of life with their own dark stain,
he ended any of their romance with blood running
from his victim’s veins.
And he drank, and he drank, from the pulsing holes,
filling up on protein and plasma to make himself whole,
becoming warm in his obsession, macabre in his role.
He daintily cleaned his feathers so to the princess
he would not be a fright, and opening his wings,
he chanted ancient lyrics, he sang of morbid love,
and dead men were made invisible from the castle walls.
When he floated back to her windowsill
he said, “hold my wing in your fingers,”
and so gently touching them was his princess,
indebted to the crow for his assistance,
and then she gasped, for he became a man,
a prince—handsome and raven-haired.
But his vanity betrayed him, his taste for the hunt,
he reached out and wrapped his fingers gently,
her chin in his cusp.
Feeling her supple skin, relishing his prize,
in an instant he strangled her, as love has no ties,
and he relished in drinking her, like fine wine or liqueur,
savoring each drop, his decadent deliverance.
Fiction © Copyright Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi
Fiction Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi:

Breath. Breath. 

It’s the one-year anniversary of the publishing of my debut dark poetry and short story collection, Breathe. Breathe. Much of it tells my life’s pains and haunts and fears poured, sometimes savagely, onto the page. However, there is also legend, folklore, and fantasy as well. 

Breathe. Breathe. is a collection of dark poetry and short fiction exploring the surreal depths of humanity. It’s a representation of how life breaks us apart and words put us back together. Purged onto the pages, dark emotions flow, urging readers into murky seas and grim forests, to the fine line between breathing and death.In Act One, readers are presented with a serial killer in Victorian London, a lighthouse keeper with an eerie legacy, a murderous spouse that seems to have walked right out of a mystery novel, and a treacherous Japanese lady who wants to stay immortal. The heightened fears in the twilight of your minds will seep into the blackest of your nights, where you have to breathe in rhythm to stay alive.
In Act Two, the poetry turns more internal and pierces through the wall of denial and pain, bringing visceral emotions to the surface unleashing traumas such as domestic abuse, violence, and illness.
In the short stories, you’ll meet residents of Valhalla Lane whose lives are on a violent parallel track to collision, a man who is driven mad by the sound of a woodpecker, a teenage girl who wakes up on the beach and can’t find another soul in sight, a woman caught in a time shift pitting her against the Egyptian goddess Anuket, and a little girl whose whole world changes when her favorite dandelion yellow crayon is discontinued.
Amid these pages the haunting themes of oppression, isolation, revenge, and madness unfold through folklore, nightmares, and often times, raw, impulsive passion crafted to sear from the inside out.
With a touching foreword by the Bram Stoker nominated author Brian Kirk, Breathe. Breathe. will at times unsettle you, and at times embrace you. Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi, a veteran writer and editor of the written word, offers up a mixed set of pieces, identifying her as a strong, new voice in dark fiction that will tear the heart from your chest, all the while reminding you to breathe.

Available on Amazon!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Tiffany Michelle Brown @TiffeBrown @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM10

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Lost and Found

by Tiffany Michelle Brown

Emma tiptoed across the Bauman’s front porch. When she twisted her key in the lock, she held tight to the heavy unicorn keychain Addie had gifted her just last week. It was a glittery thing emblazoned with NATALIE, the fake name she’d assumed when she’d moved to Minnesota. The name the Bauman’s used each and every day to address her.
The Bauman’s foyer was uncomfortably warm. Selina Bauman, soccer mom extraordinaire and Emma’s employer, ran cold, so the heat was always cranked up. Emma had learned to plan her wardrobe accordingly. She wore layers, so she could simply peel off a cardigan, an extra T-shirt, or tights when she grew too warm.
Or when feelings of loneliness, grief, and failure made Emma feel like her skin was boiling. That had been happening a lot lately.
Emma would be braiding Addie’s hair before school, twisting the girl’s silken locks between her fingers, and thinking, Why isn’t she mine? I could give her so much. When this happened, she’d pause and remove a scarf or a pair of socks. She’d finish Addie’s plait, her fingers shaking all the while, then watch the little girl bound off to find her mother, sadness ripping a hole in her chest.
Emma padded down the hall to the kitchen, a stuffed bear tucked gingerly beneath her arm. She kept her eyes forward, refusing to look at the family photos that lined the walls. The crystal-cut memories displayed there, the happiness frozen in time—it was all she’d ever wanted. And now, she was doing something about that.
In the kitchen, Emma set the stuffed bear on the linoleum. Only then did she remove her gloves, granting her hands, which were sweaty and sticky, much-needed reprieve from the heat.
Addie would be up soon, Emma knew. The child had an internal alarm clock that woke her, without fail, at 4 AM every morning, much to her parents’ dismay. They paid Emma extra to show up early.
She and the little girl’s routine would be different this morning. Emma had a gift for Addie, the plush, huggable teddy she’d propped up on the floor. She knew Addie would scoop it up immediately in her little-girl arms to squeeze and nuzzle it, pressing her cherubic face into the artificial fur. And then, within fifteen minutes or so (according to Emma’s dealer), Addie would fall into a deep sleep. A sleep that would take about twelve hours to shake off.
Addie wouldn’t feel anything as Emma scooped her up and retreated quietly down the hall, gazing lovingly into the little girl’s slumber-soft face. She wouldn’t notice the change of temperature as the two slipped into the chill of the night. And, of course, she wouldn’t hear a thing when Emma locked the door behind them, leaving the Bauman’s home nearly as she’d found it.
Fiction © Copyright Tiffany Michelle Brown
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kim Richards @Kim_Richards @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM10

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Hiding in Fear
by Kim Richards

Imanja hid in the old shed where she could watch the things from between the dilapidated boards and remain in darkness. She saw what they did to the neighbors. Her husband and children were nowhere in sight; she had an idea of what happened to them. As horrifying as it was, she didn’t dare come out to look for her family. A small woman like her stood no chance against the razor-like fangs and jagged claws of beasts thrice her size.
I am a mouse, she told herself. Be mouse small; mouse quiet; mouse cautious.
Impotence? You bet. She grit her teeth and concentrated on making the shakes leave her muscles and calm her body. Anger? It burned from her scalp to her toes. What good would it do here…at this moment…other than get herself killed too? Grief? That’s a thing for some other time, when survival isn’t all important. If Hermano and the children were dead now, they’d still be dead later. She couldn’t afford a hitch in her breathing or a stray tear to blind her sight. She guaranteed herself there would be time for tears later…much later.
Imanja forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. In through her nose; out through her mouth. In and out; in and out. She allowed herself to blink.
The sudden stench of wet animal and feces hit her hard. She stifled a gasp just as she saw black fur covered haunches ripple past—just inches beyond the boards she hid behind.
I could reach out and… No, she couldn’t…without dying for her curiosity.
The thing snorted, sending a cloud of its breath smelling like decayed flesh her way. Whose flesh? she wondered and then shook the thought out of her head.
She pressed her lips together hard and held her breath…just long enough for the gag reflex to pass on by along with the beast. Thankfully it moved on. She heard its feet shuffling among the autumn leaves outside.
Suddenly, her shoulder exploded in hot pain as the boards before her flew apart. She looked up into a blood red eye, zeroed in on her face. She struggled to pull away but her flesh was caught in the thing’s curved claws. Her blood poured down over the clawed hand and down her torso.
She opened her mouth to cry out but couldn’t because a second clawed hand grasped her about the throat.
As it pulled her from the shed wreckage, she shed a single tear.
Fuck. It had a mate.
Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author K.R. Morrison @KRMorrison2 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM10

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Collection
K.R. Morrison

I stumbled, dazed, into the burnt-out remains of what had been my home. The firefighters had finally allowed me back in, but had walked away shaking their heads—they couldn’t fathom why I would even want to see it. There wasn’t much left but blackened timbers reaching for the sky, looking much like the fingers of some giant corpse.
I didn’t care about the remains of the building at ground level. That could be rebuilt, and with my wealth, it was pocket change to bring it back to its former splendor. What was important to me was my collection, which was housed in a basement area that was partially built into the hillside. No one but the wildlife knew about it, so I was pretty sure that my secret was still safe. I only hoped that my collection was still intact. It had been through worse than this, both collectively and individually.
I had to smirk at the “individually” bit. Most of the artifacts had been through hell courtesy of me.
But this time—oh horrors! This time the entire area had been charred. Thankfully the walls still stood, but everything had been turned to ash. My heart sped up as I neared where I kept my collection, and when I rounded the east corner, my worst thoughts were realized.
My collection had been consumed by the fire—nothing left but piles of ash and the rings in the walls that had held it up. Thankfully the boxes at the far end of the hall were still intact.
I walked cautiously toward them, careful not to disturb the ashes under the rings. Any air currents over the piles would make things a lot more difficult to repair.
The contents were untouched. Rope, a gauzy material on a roll, and a very sharp knife lay atop a number of short wooden spikes. These last were the items that I didn’t want to use—that meant more blood spilled and twice as much work. So—the quicker the deal was done, the better.
I sighed and got to work. First, I hung the gauze across the holes in the wall opposite, after shutting what remained of the windows. It would do until I could replace them myself. Any sounds that emanated through them would only bounce against the hillside, making my land sound haunted and frightening to any who passed by. And that’s how I liked it.
As I started to thread new rope through the rings, a sudden movement caught my eye. I turned to see a snake slithering right toward my collection!
Well, this just wouldn’t do. I threw the knife and pinned the serpent to the floor. Usually I didn’t care about creatures touring the place, but – my collection! It mattered more than anything.
I cleaned the knife off—no sense in mixing DNA—and quickly sliced my wrist open. With my other hand I held the vein closed as best I could until I reached the piles of ash. When I got to the first pile, I let it go, and allowed it to gush over the mound. I did the same with the rest, working quickly so as to not pass out, and sealed my arm up with my own saliva when I was done. Then I stood back to watch the magic happen.
It always amazes me how fast they regenerate. In less than a couple of heartbeats (my guess, since I haven’t had one in ages), the ash became bodies of men and women. They lay along the hallway, inert at first, but slowly starting to wake up. I smiled at my success, then hurried to hang them back up. It was always a gamble when I had to do this, but I hadn’t lost any of them yet.
Soon all of my enemies had been rehung, and just in time—their eyes opened and they started screaming in agony. My eyes lit up, and I ran my hand across them one by one.
“Sorry the place looks so bad,” I told them. “I’ll get the place cleaned up as soon as possible. Then we’ll all be comfy again, right?”
They didn’t hear me, and I didn’t care. I whistled to myself as I headed up to the remains of the upper floor.
Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author K.R. Morrison:

Be Not Afraid (Pride’s Downfall Vol 1)

Lydia’s faith in God is strong – at least on paper. But what happens when that faith is tested? Turned into a vampire by the worst – Vlad Drakul – she feels that God has abandoned her. But the opposite is true. God rescues her from a fate worse than death, and brings her into the plan He has for global redemption. With the help He sends, she feels like nothing can stop her. But when Vlad torments her again, and then her family, the temptation to run and hide is almost too strong to resist. Her answer to God’s call is the deciding factor in the battle that pits the angelic powers of God against the demonic powers of Hell.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Leah McNaughton Lederman @leahlederman @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM10

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Bone Bringer
by Leah McNaughton Lederman

He was called the Bone Bringer, by some, others had heard of the Rock Crusher. Still others knew him only as the nervous way they felt when a forest breeze fell on their neck, though the woods were still.
All those people were gone, now.
He was No One incarnate, mere emptiness. Nothing.
And he was lonely.
The traveling never ceased. The movement, at once chaotic and smooth, was endless. He lumbered across the vast environs of earth, searching.
The things he touched, when he thought they might be worthy, they crumbled to nothing, descended from life into decay.
There was nothing left. He was lonely and he was hungry.
The crow was clever, he knew. Untrustworthy, to be certain, but keen enough to save its own feathered neck at any cost, even if that cost was the last family.
They thought they’d be safe there, holed up at the end of the world. But now nothing stood between them and Nothing.
He’d start with the crow.
Fiction © Copyright Leah McNaughton Lederman
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Leah McNaughton Lederman:

Leah Lederman has been working as an editor of indie horror comics and short stories since 2011. This year she’s taking the reins and releasing Café Macabre: A Collection of Horror Stories and Art by Women. Be sure to follow her on Facebook (www.facebook.com/ledermanediting) and Twitter (@leahlederman) to learn more about this terrifying and awesome anthology!

Please visit Leah on Facebook for more info.

 

 

 

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Naching T. Kassa @NachingKassa @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM10

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

TD
by Naching T. Kassa

TD dangled from the makeshift wash line above the kitchen table, his paw pinned to the cord, fur matted with moisture. The muffled wails of a little girl sounded from the hall and his ears pricked up. It was his girl, Mary Elizabeth. He strained to make out the words.
“Mama, I can’t sleep without him!” the girl cried.
“TD is soaking wet. You can’t sleep with him now,” Alice replied.
“I want him. I want TD!”
“If you’d listened to me, you’d have him right now. Why on earth did you drop him in the water?”
“He told me to.”
“Bears don’t talk.”
TD sighed. He had told Mary Elizabeth to toss him in the water. Why didn’t Alice believe anymore? As a little girl, she’d heard every word he’d said. He had been her protector first, long before she had given him to her daughter.
He looked up at the lifeless paw clipped to the line and studied the stitches which had reattached it to his arm. Did Alice remember what had happened? He doubted it. In all probability, her adult mind had reduced the memories to nightmare state and nothing more.
A soft rapping on the backdoor turned his thoughts to the present. He listened to the sentry’s code, nodding as his mind deciphered each word. It repeated and the night fell still once more.
The Evil One had returned.
With his free paw, TD reached up and unclipped himself from the rope. He hung there for a second like a circus acrobat before dropping to the table with a wet thud.
Alice’s muffled voice drifted up the hall and through the kitchen. It carried words from a storybook, one he knew well.
A small scuffle sounded outside and the pet door, long unused, lifted. The head of a stuffed rabbit tumbled through it.
TD’s breath caught in his throat as blood oozed onto the snow-white linoleum.
His sentry was no more.
The pet door remained open. Something slipped inside and it thumped back into place.
Before the kitchen light went out, TD caught sight of a pale face with lips the color of blood and eyes of amber. It skittered into the room on an arachnid’s body and melted into the shadows.
A strange clicking filled the air.
TD shimmied down the table leg, his water-logged body dragging him to the floor. He slogged toward the hallway entrance and stopped.
The clicking ceased.
Moonlight streamed through the window above the sink, illuminating the floor before him. TD surveyed the area, his button eyes searching for movement. They scanned the letters arranged in a jumble on the fridge and found a message in the chaos.
“I WILL FINISH WHAT I STARTED.”
The demon stepped into the moonlight and revealed its horrific glory. It had grown since last he’d seen it and the shiny black body contrasted with the white of the kitchen. Flashes filled TD’s mind and like a movie, played back before his eyes. He saw the thing on Alice’s chest, saw its spider-like arms holding her mouth wide as it pushed its way inside. In desperation, he’d grasped hold of the only weapon he could find, the crucifix on her bedroom wall. He’d stabbed the thing with it and lost his paw in the process.
A giggle sounded from the hallway, breaking TD’s reverie. The demon’s eyes took on a hungry gleam. It took a step forward and TD did the same.
“I saw you skulking about yesterday,” the bear said. “I’m ready for you this time.”
A smile spread across the human face and it rushed him.
TD stood his ground and welcomed it, arms wide. It hit him hard, knocking him backward to the floor.
Human teeth sank into TD’s neck. The bear wrapped his arms about the creature and squeezed.
It tore out his throat.
Steam rose from the demon’s mouth. It spat fur and stuffing into TD’s face and screamed. TD tightened his grip and the glistening body burned.
As blood flowed from TD’s wound, his arms grew weak. The demon’s face swam before his eyes and he felt it slip from his grasp. He reached for it.
The thing crept away on unsteady legs, headed for the hall. It glanced back in triumph.
And, then, she appeared.
Her foot came down hard, crushing the chitinous body. She lifted her shoe once more and bone crunched as she ground the face beneath her heel.
Alice came to TD’s side. She picked him up and cradled him in her arms.
“I should’ve known,” she said. “Mary Elizabeth is a good girl in church. She would never throw you in the font. Never throw you in the holy water. Not unless you told her. Not unless it was back.” She held him close. “I’m so sorry, TD. Sorry, I forgot.”
TD smiled.
Alice was his girl again.
She would always be his girl.
Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Naching T. Kassa:


Final Masquerade

It’s the Final Masquerade and it’s your turn to dance.

The evening is ending and the guests are ready to leave, but the final event of the evening is just beginning — the unmasking.

Welcome to Final Masquerade where no one is who they seem.

Stories written by Daniel I. Russell * Ken MacGregor * J.C. Delisle * Joshua Chaplinsky * Lori Safranek * D.S. Ullery * Samantha Lienhard * Thomas Kleaton * Josh Strnad * Naching T. Kassa * Roy C. Booth & Axel Kohagen * Sheldon Woodbury * Craig Steven * Gregory L. Norris * Jay Eales * Dale W. Glaser * R.K. Kombrinck * Jonathan Cromack * Brian C. Baer * Adrian Chamberlin

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Women in Horror Month, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #WiHM10

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


A Crack in Time
by Kathleen McCluskey

Amy was intrigued by the prospect of being a land owner. When her grandfather passed away she was left with the family homestead. She remembered from her youth that the south end of the property was always off limits. Her grandfather had told her that it was a forest refuge for the animals.
The land was beautiful. It was loaded with apple, cherry and peach trees. No respectable Georgian would own land without peach trees. Hopping on the four wheeler she wanted to see the extent of the fortune she was about to come into. Her curiosity made her head straight for the southern end of the property.
Amy jumped off of the quad and landed in tall unkempt grass. She began to hike into the bramble. Her excursion into the mottled sunlight was brief when she stumbled upon an old farm house. The weather worn porch was crumbling and she thought she heard voices within. She pulled her gun from her belt and went to investigate. Peering through the fragmented lumber she could see soldiers in blue uniforms on the floor with blood splashed onto the walls. They wailed in pain and some even looked like they were being tented to by a man in a white blood spattered coat. Amy put her hand to her mouth to mute a scream. When she did the specter in the coat turned and looked at her. He spoke in a thick Boston accent, “I see you never heeded the warning. General Sherman will be pleased. His march to Atlanta is almost complete. You will never go back to your time.” He walked towards her, she tried to scream but no sound came. Looking down at herself she was now clad in a long, dirty dress with petticoats. He opened the door and said, “Lookie here boys, we have ourselves a southern belle. One thing about those rebs, they sure know how to dress their women.” He grabbed her and tossed her into the house.
Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Kathleen McCluskey:

The Long Fall: Book 1: The Inception of Horror

Lucifer always cunning and intelligent challenges father to a battle of wits. Being the angel of light he casts a judgemental eye upon mankind. He begins a war with his fellow archangels and God. Michael, along with his siblings defend their home and mankind from their deranged brother. Broad swords and hand to hand combat drench heaven in blood. The four apocalyptic steeds are released, each having their own destructive power. Betrayal and lust are at biblical levels. Understand the very creation of evil and the consequenses that transpire in the first of THE LONG FALL series.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Women in Horror Month, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments