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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_MAR_LOH

Road Trip…Ad Nauseum
K.R. Morrison

The road stretched out before me, the night studded with stars. Occasionally some would float down around my car. The air smelled of bacon, which only added to the strangeness.
For, not three minutes ago, I had been one of the many drivers strangled in four-lane commuter congestion. How I had gotten here, I had no idea.
The stars floated around me—or was it snow? In the desert? Not unheard of, but odd.
Suddenly my world shook, and I hung on for dear life until the tremors passed. The stars/snow were now thick around me—and just as quickly, they were back in the night sky.
I started my car and headed toward the horizon, mystified and not just a little panicked. I was either dreaming, or I had been transported to another place in the world by some mystic hand.
Considering how my life had been going, a ramble through the desert at night seemed a better option. But where to find shelter? And dinner?
Suddenly the night was pierced by a high, keening cry.
Wolves?
Then, to my terror, a huge eye appeared ahead of me. I slammed on the brakes, but they were totally ineffective. I screamed as I plummeted toward the iris.
SLAM!
My car ran into something invisible, but very solid.
I was unhurt—and to my surprise, right back at the section of road where I’d originally found myself.
The high-pitched screaming came again—but this time I hear words. And I knew, somehow, that I would never be going home again.
***
The little girl laughed as she prepared to shake the snow globe again.
“Mommy! You should see! I have a car in my world now!” She frowned a little. “But the guy in the car scares me. How do I get rid of him?”
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 Sheikha A. @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_MAR_LOHMercury
by Sheikha A.

He feeds on energy –
calls himself Black
Widow; he can invert
to the feminine inside
of him, be ambitious
like swift, cunning legs
of a graceful arachnid –
an architect of bones,
keeping them fresh
for nest-building.
He can be submissive
like serum of justice
on lips of a feminine
scorn-lashing magician,
black like his blood –
black like infinity –
black like death on stilts
walking through dreams,
inflicting scars on necks
for posterity. He can crush
spines with an elegant swipe
of his palms; he will name
it sleep-paralysis, sweet
poison in his pelvic spool,
black like tongue of midnight –
black like birth hour of a devil.
He sprays lustful acid –
act of predation fulfilled.
Lunging bosom first
he spirals flesh firmly,
watching in decadent relish
until the moon-shine of bones
peek like a ray of light
through vapour residue
of skin, sinew and other
disposable trinkets; the soul
he sucks like marrow; the soul
he burns to silver, hot and viscous –
Fiction © Copyright Sheikha A.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Sheikha A.:

Screen Shot 2019-12-17 at 10.57.17 AM.pngNyctophiliac Confessions:
Poems by Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee

“The night is cold enough to inspire poetry,” says Sheikha A. in her poem, “Reading My Bones.” This is the basis of Nyctophiliac Confessions – poems that are introspective and luminal, poems that require a certain amount of silence and space to be fully formed and appreciated. Reading these poems, I imagined that they were the kind of poems that assert themselves unbidden during a bout of insomnia. (A nyctophiliac being someone who loves the night or loves darkness).

Nyctophiliac Confessions is the 17th installment of Praxis’ chapbook series and contains twenty-six poems written by two poets, Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee, interspersed with abstract paintings by Robert Rhodes.

Available Here!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Asena Lourenco @ElaLourenco @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_MAR_LOHKill, Click, Run
by Asena Lourenco

A snap of a photograph,
Draws the eyes of the world to you,
Any secrets that you had,
Will soon reveal the truth,
Mist clouding my mind,
The room much the same,
My judgement not clear,
A corpse by the door frame,
A click of a message,
Inviting the web to join in the game,
An attached photograph,
Shared under my name,
The wind rushed in through the window,
Clearing my humid and hazy head,
As realisation kicked in,
That my mother is now dead.
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 13 years old. She loves reading, playing Scottish traditional fiddle music on her violin, dancing, and martial arts as well as writing her own stories.

She would like to be a teacher and writer when she grows up. She also loves cats and babies!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Christina Sng @ChristinaSng @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


003_MAR_LOH86th Birthday
by Christina Sng

My last memory is of the leather-bound books sitting on my desk. They carry the stories of my life, written in my shaky, arthritic hand.

I wrote them in case I forget. After all, no one knows what happens after death. Certainly, no one has come back to tell the tale. No one I know, anyway.

I wake up in the darkness. The lamp has tilted and fallen, and now the fire eats away at my clothing and my books.

I frantically pat the flames away and grasp each precious volume in my arms. The window beckons and I lunge through, my right shoulder leading the way.

The cold night air engulfs my skin in a strange entrapment of kinship as it wraps me in its soothing blanket and lulls me to sleep.

I wake up in flames but I feel no pain. The fire has devoured the stories of my life, now dust in my arms. But I no longer care.

All I care about are the people gathering to gape at my burning house, pointing in horror but doing nothing to stop it.

Fury rises up from my gut like a raging inferno. I tear each one of them to pieces, devouring their blood and marrow till I am sated.

It is then I notice my bloodied hands no longer hurt excruciatingly when I open and close my fingers.

My vision is razor-sharp. I can see an owl ten miles away tilting its head curiously to the moon as if it spies a mouse there.

A discomforting sensation stirs inside my stomach.

Who am I, I ask myself?

Does it matter? Another voice replies.

No, I tell it. I no longer care nor remember, but I know how I got here.

Memory is a small price to pay to never again feel pain.

I look up and smile at a child standing by the gate, its eyes glazed and bloodshot with terror and tears. It still holds on to its father’s severed hand.

With a leap, I take to the brightening sky, leaving all that is human behind.

Fiction © Copyright Christina Sng
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Christina Sng:

A Collection of Nightmares

Hold your screams and enter a world of seasonal creatures, dreams of bones, and confessions modeled from open eyes and endless insomnia. Christina Sng’s A Collection of Nightmares is a poetic feast of sleeplessness and shadows, an exquisite exhibition of fear and things better left unsaid. Here are ramblings at the end of the world and a path that leads to a thousand paper cuts at the hands of a skin carver. There are crawlspace whispers, and fresh sheets gently washed with sacrifice and poison, and if you’re careful in this ghost month, these poems will call upon the succubus to tend to your flesh wounds and scars.
These nightmares are sweeping fantasies that electrocute the senses as much as they dull the ache of loneliness by showing you what’s hiding under your bed, in the back of your closet, and inside your head. Sng’s poems dissect and flower, her autopsies are delicate blooms dressed with blood and syntax. Her words are charcoal and cotton, safe yet dressed in an executioner’s garb.
Dream carefully.
You’ve already made your bed.
The nightmares you have now will not be kind.
And you have no one to blame but yourself.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kendra Hale @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_MAR_LOH

Hidden Delights
by Kendra Hale

Listen to the sound of my voice. 
Focus. 
Let us go back to your favorite time, your favorite place. 
Make it a happy memory. 
Have you found one?
Oh good, now your eyes may start to feel heavy.
That’s okay. 
Let yourself fall into a slumber. 
Feel the warmth of your body ease you into this sleeping state. 
Where are you?
In a park, on a summer’s day?
Is the warmth you feel the sun?
Is it bright there?
Feel the joy envelope you.
Do you notice someone out of the corner of your eye?
What caught your eye first?
Ah, the way the sun shone on their chestnut hair. 
Is that how you made your choices? 
Did it remind you of a halo?
Was she your angel? 
Did you send her home?
Calm.
Listen to my voice.
All is safe.
All is well. 
You following her was unnoticed.
You were just another person on that dark street. 
It was that alley where the light had captured her halo so brilliantly…
That was where you decided to free her. 
It was warm and wet.
It was messy.
But you watched that light leave her eyes.
You watched as she went home. 
No one could have blamed you. 
Alison was sent home. 
I am going to count to three and you will come back to me. 
You will have these memories but they won’t come to the surface.
Not unless you are asked about her. 
You will feel refreshed and relaxed. 
One. 
Two. 
And three.
There we are, welcome back. 
How do you feel?
Oh I am glad. 
We made such progress today. 
Oh the pleasure is all mine. 
Yes, I believe our next session will be just as fruitful. 
You can schedule outside with Leslie for our next session. 
It is for people like you I am glad I chose this vocation.
Thank you, you are always welcome here. 
See you next session. 
*click*
It is time to find my next angel…
Fiction © Copyright Kendra Hale
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Kendra Hale:

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Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology

A collection of poetry.

 Available on Amazon!  

 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Angela Yuriko Smith @AngelaYSmith @darc_nina #LoH

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_MAR_LOH

Taking a Break
by Angela Yuriko Smith

the last thing she saw:
sunset on the open road
and no horizon.
she didn’t hear it—
iron hooves on hot asphalt
breath that hissed like steam…
she didn’t smell it—
desert sand, decay and death
the scent of the end…
she didn’t see it—
tongue lolling from snap trap jaws
craving bone to crack…
a bumper sticker
slapped on like a prophecy:
I brake for cryptids…
… and break she did.
Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

Angela Yuriko Smith is an American poet, author and co-publisher of Space and Time magazine, a publication that has been printing speculative fiction, art and poetry since 1966. Together we build a poem as a community each month. Visit “Exquisite Corpse” at SpaceandTime.net to submit.

Catch up with Angela here!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Janine Pipe @JaninePipe28 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_MAR_LOH

Be Careful What You Wish For…
by Janine Pipe

I love fucked up shit.
Once you’ve found the dark web, there’s no going back.
You can watch anything.
Now I need it to be nasty, but also to be … real.
This is what I’ve been waiting for.
It cost a lot, and not just money.
Ping.
It’s here.
I open my email.
I’m so fucking ready for this.
A picture fills my screen.
Oh god, this is going to be so good.
I unzip my …
Wait.
I know that room.
It can’t be.
No.
NO!
They can’t be –
I didn’t ask for –
Fuck. No!
Please god – MOM!
Fiction © Copyright Janine Pipe
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from Janine Pipe:

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Alien Agenda Publishing 2020 Sampler

The 2020 Sampler from Alien Agenda Publishing. Featuring tales from Bryan Smith (The Depraved, 68 Kill), Tim Meyer (The Switch House, Dead Daughters), Michelle Garza & Melissa Lason aka The Sisters of Slaughter (Mayan Blue, Those Who Follow), D.W. Gillespie (One by One, The Toy Thief), Jackson R. Thomas (The White Wolf series), Joshua Marsella (Scratches) and Janine Pipe.

Available on Amazon!

 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Linda Lee Rice @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_MAR_LOHThe Books
by Linda Lee Rice

The ancient books are deceiving, lying there as if they are ordinary books. But I hear their whispering in my dreams. Rustling, pages softly rubbing against each other enticing me. But I resist.
I was told by the others that the books would lead me down the wrong path. Take me into place of darkness and heat, a place where there was just a wrongness. So far, I have resisted their siren call.
Tonight, I found myself as if in a trance slowly caressing and almost opening the cover of the ancient manuscript. The scent of dust and mildew mingled in my nostrils causing me to sneeze. I awoke and found myself before them, each title outlined in the lamp, but I refuse to look. Light from a lamp, I don’t even remember turning on, illuminating the dark room.
I fled.
But here again I find myself, reaching out, touching them. I think to myself what harm could there be in a book? Surely the others are wrong? I hear a sibilant whisper calling my name…it’s too much to resist. I’ll just read one page, then shut the door to the study again.
As I reach for the book on top, a layer of debris is disturbed. The lamp is bumped in my slow haste as I pull the dusty tome to lay in front on me. The title was written in gold lettering against the black background. Just what does Grand Grimoire mean?
I opened the first page and descended into darkness as the light faded…
Fiction © Copyright Linda Lee Rice.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More about Linda Lee Rice:

me in burgandy hat2

Linda Lee Rice aka Ruzicka has poetry published in Twilight Times, Dark Krypt, Fables, Descending Darkness, Writing Village, Spine, and Page, Muses Gallery, Bloodbond, Lycan Valley Press Publishers, Alban Lake, Highland Park Poetry, Rosette Maleficarum, The Siren’s Call, Edify Fiction and the June Cotner anthology, “House Blessings” and “Garden Blessings

She has short stories published in The Grit, and Reminisce, Haunted Encounters: Friends and Family, FrostFire Worlds. Plus, a personal essay at Mamalode. She also has various articles and blogs published online as a freelance writer.

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_MAR_LOH

Eyes on the Road
by Suzanne Madron

He was driving too fast again. He knew this, knew she would start to yell at him, but his foot pressed harder on the accelerator until it bumped against the floor. He needed to hurry.
The car lurched forward and he felt himself being pressed into the seat. Ahead of him was open road, a straight run for as far as the eye could see. Once, there had been fields of green, crops and forests, but he had left the lush growth behind him twenty miles after the last stop for gas. He was almost home. Just a little further.
The engine roared under the hood and he felt the vibration all around him as the wind pulled at the edges of the vehicle. The night streaked past the windows but he knew there was nothing to see. People had not lived out this way in decades. The stretch of road showed the wear and tear of nature reclaiming what was once its own.
He swerved to miss a gaping pothole yawning black ahead of him and was only partially successful. His teeth clacked together as he bounced from the impact. From the corner of his eye he saw movement from the passenger seat. A cold chill gripped him and he focused harder on the abandoned highway. Just a little further. If he could get them off this damned highway, maybe they could finally rest.
“You’re going to look, you know,” she said. Her voice was tired, brittle. Made of ashes.
He shook his head, tears already carving lines into his cheeks and deepening the crow’s feet surrounding his eyes.
“Honey, you have to look.”
“Not this time.”
“Every time. For always.”
She was right. And he looked, just like she said he would. He couldn’t help it any more than he could escape this repeating hell he existed in now.
The charred corpse grinned at him from the warped springs of the passenger seat, the seatbelt melded to her flesh and clothing. But it wasn’t really a grin, was it? The expression was purely due to a lack of lips.
The bright light ahead of him lit the scene in extreme contrast of light and shadow. As he had so many years before and so many years afterward, he looked directly into the cloud looming in the distance as it grew into the horrifyingly familiar mushroom shape.
Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Suzanne Madron:

For Sale or Rent

The house across the street seems to go on the market every few months, but this time nothing about the sale is normal, including the new owners. No sooner has the for sale sign come down and the neighborhood is thrown into a Lovecraftian nightmare and the only way to find out is to attend the house warming party.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alex Grehy @indigodreamers @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_MAR_LOH

The Space Between (Villanelle)
by Alex Grehy

The space between frames, dark between light, pain between smiles.
Wedding day movie, mum beams, dad looks harmless, benign
yet they say that the camera can never tell lies. 
Mum wore long-sleeved white satin, damning bruises disguised.
Temper in check, dad’s huge fist pumps in triumph, this time.
The space between frames, dark between light, pain between smiles.
A new reel unwinds. Honeymoon – sun, sea and blue skies
she hides black eyes with big glasses, appeases, drinks wine,
yet they say that the camera can never tell lies 
My party, I’m ten, he hurts me, I smother my cries,
he sings happy birthday, guileless, the cake looks so fine.
The space between frames, dark between light, pain between smiles.
Mum hands me a knife, let’s cut, she says. I stab, he dies.
Accident. The home movie shows the fault is not mine,
Yet they say that the camera can never tell lies
So tragic! He was a good man his friends eulogise,
we sneer, our family’s virtue is deceit defined
The space between frames, dark between light, pain between smiles.
Yet they say that the camera can never tell lies
Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

147443997_865719290883677_3441953034998826390_n

After a lifetime of writing technical non-fiction, Alex Grey is fulfilling her dream of writing poems and stories that engage the reader’s emotions. Her work has been featured by a wide range of publications including Siren’s Call, Raconteur, Bookends Review, and Toasted Cheese. One of her comic poems is also available via a worldwide network of public fiction dispensers managed by French publisher, Short Edition. Her ingredients for contentment are narrow boating, greyhounds, singing and chocolate. It is a sweet life, yet Alex’ original view of the world has led to her best friend to say ‘For someone so lovely, you’re very twisted!

Please click here to discover more!   

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