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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

New Arrangements
by Tiffany Michelle Brown

As was their new custom, Ronnie had beat Susan to bed. He lay atop their midnight blue comforter in pajama pants and a worn T-shirt, his eyes half-closed, his body cutting a fine impression into the mattress. Susan thought he looked peaceful.

She wasn’t sure she liked this new arrangement. Over the years, Ronnie had proven to be a night owl and Susan, an early evening bedbug. Her husband’s newfound stillness was unsettling; she was used to him puttering about well into the early hours of the morning. But, Susan reminded herself, people change. Circumstances change. She simply needed to get used to it.

And truly, it wasn’t all bad. Since she and Ronnie now had quality time together before bed, she’d taken to reading aloud from her favorite classic, Jane Eyre. Ronnie had yet to complain about the old-timey language, so Susan figured he was enjoying himself, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

Susan climbed into bed and rubbed lavender-scented lotion into her arms. She found the scent refreshing and calming, and it helped her get to sleep most nights.

Susan procured her worn copy of Jane Eyre from her bedside table and flipped open the brittle pages to where she’d left off the night before. She’d begun using the rose Ronnie bought her a week earlier as a bookmark, which Susan found incredibly romantic—despite the circumstances under which Ronnie had bought the flower.

It was meant to be an apology. It hadn’t worked.

But Susan didn’t want to think about that night. It seemed so very long ago. And reflecting on the past wouldn’t let her move into her new future. Their new future.

Susan’s voice, steady and warm, read the words of Charlotte Brontë as Ronnie lay beside her—not just dead to the world, but dead in all respects, as he had been for days now.

At the close of the chapter, Susan sighed happily, replaced the book, and turned out the light.

The weight of Ronnie’s body beside her was comforting, as it always had been, though the weight was cold and starting to smell a tad unpleasant. But, Susan thought, it could be worse. So much worse.

She was convinced somehow, as she drifted off to dream of their argument—the one that ended so badly and that she revisited in REM night after night—that this new life of theirs wasn’t so bad.

She’d get used to it. It would just take time.

Fiction © Copyright Tiffany Michelle Brown
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Snuff Film Relic
by Marge Simon

“Sweetie, I’ve been into film production since I was a boy,” he said. Julian was his name and I was crazy about him. I couldn’t believe such a man of his looks and caliber would ever speak to me, much less invite me into his spacious home. But here I was, sitting in his living room.
He lit my cigarette and kissed my fingers. While I was taking it all in, he placed a snifter of brandy in my hand, his silky baritone like a lullaby. He showed me his father’s Kodak. “This model was made in 1965. Just look at this my dear!” Unrolling some film, he held it up to the light so I could see how each frame had clearly captured a part of the action. Then he loaded the projector and started it.
By that time, I was getting a weird buzz from the brandy. I say “weird” because I was feeling very odd. It was like everything was slowing down. When I looked at the filmstrip, it seemed a great distance away. And I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
A lovely woman was sitting in the same chair as mine in the film. Julian held her in his arms. He began kissing her from her breasts down to her toes. A close-up of her eyelids fluttering. A line of drool escaped her lips. In the next set of frames, he was stabbing her with a screwdriver. He’d even added sound somehow — McCartney’s “Let It Be” full volume in the background.
Then he started in on me with a warm embrace, his lips on mine, sweet as that tainted brandy. Oh, yes, I was very much there, eyes wide open, unable to move, watching him remove the used film. He reloaded the Kodak, mounted it on a tripod, and aimed that old lens straight at me.
Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Marge Simon:

 

Satan’s Sweethearts
by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

Satan’s Sweethearts – a collection of poems by Marge Simon and Mary Turzillo featuring the most monstrous, evil women throughout history!

Available on Amazon!

 

 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Mandy DeGeit @mandydegeit @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Ritual

by Mandy DeGeit

She pants heavily behind the mask of bone. Sweat drips from her chin, the droplets disappearing into the murky water beneath her.
The sharp bedrock of the stream cuts into her knees, but she doesn’t feel the pain, nor does she notice the blood mingling with the running water. This only makes her stronger.
The setting sun in the distance, bids farewell to light’s end, bringing with it darkness and the creatures that live within it.
The monsters that come from the depths of shadows are close, so close she can smell the rot. Their putridity is strong, but not unwelcome. The stifling sweetness burns deep into her nostrils. .
She stands slowly, as the creatures from the darkness mingle around her, gathering, worshiping, and waiting for the next command.
As she basks in the residual light, water droplets glistening on her skin, she is once again powerful. Her army of minions congregates behind, snarling, snapping, and breathing as one.
As she takes a step towards the lights of the village, her power, and hatred, grows.
She smiles in the moonlight, her toothy grin reflecting pure evil.
She is woman, and she is witch.
Never again will they break her down.
Fiction © Copyright Mandy DeGeit
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Works by Mandy DeGeit can be found listed in her bibliography!
More from Mandy DeGeit!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Tawny Kipphorn @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Remnants
by Tawny Kipphorn

Razor sharp steel pressing against flesh
Eyes once so bright, now black as coal
The cold blooded’s bask in the memory of their crimes.
Faces seared into gray matter
The echoes of their screams from within these walls
The final luxury before their execution.
Every last strand has fallen upon this floor
And with the erosion of time
So has fallen every tear for every drop of blood.
Though the inhabitants have long expired
And the very foundation continues to decay
This place remains very much alive.
For every life that has entered here
Another one has ended here
And sometimes.. you can still hear their cries.
Fiction © Copyright Tawny Kipphorn
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Tawny Kipphorn:

A Shadow of Autumn

Fall—a season as beautiful as it is foreboding. A Shadow of Autumn takes you back to childhood nostalgia while peeling away the mask to reveal things that haunt your worst nightmares. Within these pages, you’ll find the usual denizens of the holiday—demons, witches, ghosts, and bloodsuckers—along with strange and unknown creatures lurking everywhere from innocuous cornfields and pumpkin patches to basement hatches and high school dances. These fourteen tales of fall magic and Halloween horrors will keep you looking over your shoulder long after the last light of October has waned. Don’t say we didn’t warn you…

Available on Amazon! 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sonora Taylor @sonorawrites @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Petal, Page, Piel
by Sonora Taylor

Petal, page, piel. Petal, page, piel. Hanna sang the words to herself as she glued the pages of her book together. This book would be her finest yet, one filled with her fondest memories of Seth.

Petal, page piel. Petal, page, piel. A vase of wilted roses sat near her materials. Each flower was a gift from Seth, each page a transcript of the loving words he’d said to her. A book of love notes that would hold his words forever, even though he stopped saying them to her long ago.

Hanna sighed a little as she capped her pen, then turned the page. The book crackled like creaking bones beneath skin. Hanna remembered how books of old were made from skin, both animal and human.

Skin. Such a blunt word, one that pierced the tongue like a shard. Hanna much preferred the Spanish word, piel. It sounded like peel. To peel away skin sounded so much nicer than to skin someone to the bone. She loved the way Seth’s skin had looked between her fingertips. She loved it now as she caressed the pages of his skin inside her book, sheets she’d filled with all his lovely words.

Hanna placed a rose from Seth between the crease and shut the book to flatten it. Seth’s gifts, words, and body would be forever hers. Petal, page, piel. Petal, page, piel.

Fiction © Copyright Sonora Taylor
Image courtesy of  Pixabay.com

 

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More from Sonora Taylor:

Without Condition

Cara Vineyard lives a quiet life in rural North Carolina. She works for an emerging brewery, drives her truck late at night, and lives with her mother on a former pumpkin farm. Her mother is proud of her and keeps a wall displaying all of Cara’s accomplishments.

Cara isn’t so much proud as she is bored. She’s revitalized when she meets Jackson Price, a pharmacist in Raleigh. Every day they spend together, she falls for him a little more — which in turn makes her life more complicated. When Cara goes on her late-night drives, she often picks up men. Those men tend to die. And when Cara comes back to the farm, she brings a memento for her mother to add to her wall of accomplishments.

Cara’s mother loves her no matter what. But she doesn’t know if Jackson will feel the same — and she doesn’t want to find out.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Spheres of Vision
by Asena Lourenco

Slithering silver skeleton claws
Waiting for one to fall into his jaws
Watching closely, even with no vision
Empty sockets, begins our mission
Bodies upon bodies lay dead on the ground
As with two dark holes they are found
On their face, there is nothing remaining
Apart from the nose and mouth it’s proudly displaying
The Spheres of Vision, or the mirrors of light
Have now vanished, into the dead of night.
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 11 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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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author H.E.Roulo @hroulo @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Devouring Circles
by H.E.Roulo

Spotlights from helicopters danced across the blue Caribbean ocean, and crews on other ships shouted at each other. Ignoring the panic around her, Vera sat on the side of her boat and double-checked her scuba gear. The last few sunset cruises were loading up and hightailing it to shore, leaving her boat gently bobbing beside Ned’s. A helicopter circled. Its spotlights searched across Ned’s empty boat. They couldn’t know he’d gone below more than an hour ago. It might be a relief to find him in distress, just to save his pride.
 Loudspeakers demanded all ships return to shore for their own safety. Ha! Vera finished shoving her hair under her wetsuit and flipped them the finger. She’d always hated to be told what to do. She slapped the tattoo on her forearm, hidden beneath the black wetsuit, and toppled overboard. Her inked anchor had brought her luck when she was working the oil fields. That had been a dog-eat-dog world, and she’d held her own. Same thing when she’d gotten back and started salvaging wrecks. You couldn’t much argue underwater while wearing gear, but you had to demand respect. She’d never backed down. Ned got that. He said the anchor wasn’t about water, it was about being her being so immovable. That was enough to win her over. Sometimes they’d even gone out diving together, but he’d been alone today.
The water was definitely turning darker. The radio called it an oil leak, except this wasn’t the kind of response an oil leak got. She had a hunch it all went back to the carving they’d found last night. Ned had invited only her and a couple veteran divers to see it. When they returned, they went straight to McGinty’s Bar. She’d tried to describe its nauseating yet appealing power. Ned had taken pictures, but on paper it wasn’t even much to look at, just a circle within circle, carved into rock. He’d claimed it sealed the underworld.
The only underworld she believed in was the bottom of the ocean.
Looking back at Ned’s determination, she should have taken the old cuss more seriously when he said, “That carving makes me shivery. Think I’ll break it loose and hang it on my wall.”
Fortunately, when the call came to evacuate this stretch of ocean, she’d already been on her boat with her tanks and wet suit. Finding his boat bobbing right there, she knew he’d gone after the carving. Even if Ned was an idiot who dove alone, she wasn’t going to leave him down there.
She descended, sinking from the strobe of spotlight, swallowed by darker waters.
Her dive light returned color to the seafloor. The oozing seal lay just ahead. Was it connected to the underworld, like Ned said? Vera wanted to scoff, but her scuba mask muffled it into a burp of bubbles. She swam closer, drawn by the pool of blackness barely visible in her light. Here, tendrils like wisps of a dust devil avoided her light. She spotted Ned’s figure and swam closer. Strange that he didn’t respond to her light. Was it just a rock outcropping? She touched his shoulder, and it crumbled beneath her glove. She flinched. His brittle husk spun slowly. His hood fell back from a blackened skull. Behind his body, her light touched the carving.
The stone glinted, circles within circles. Life. Power. Midnight-black tendrils seeped into the water, flirting around her light, like the lattice of a Faberge egg, surrounded her. She spun in a slow circle, heart pounding. Tentacles of sinewy corruption darkened the world to a chamber, a bubble, bordered only by the blackness. Power sizzled, somehow tickling her skin through the thick barrier of her suit. A tendril slithered close. She flinched, but the cage was collapsing. She flashed her light across it, the last gaps closing before she could snake through. Animal panic sent her pulse racing and she released the flashlight to scrabble against the thing that surrounded her. It made contact, wrapped her, crushed her, and held her suspended in a husk of blackness apart from the world. She sensed its foreign nature, the evil inherent in its otherness. It could not survive in this world, not as it was, so it consumed and corrupted all it touched.
A feather-touch of pain sizzled along her cheek. Tears collected inside her mask and she contorted, fighting the power that held her. She opened her mouth to scream and the darkness washed across her, corrupting and transforming her.
She snarled, recognizing that it changed her into something like itself, full of power and rage. Somehow, that was better. She’d always hated to be helpless. She opened her mouth and sucked in more. The buzz traveled down her throat and nestle in her chest. She stopped struggling and swept her arms out to gather more, to invite it in, to take and chew and swallow. She consumed, drawing it in with an embrace of delight that only grew stronger. Too late, it realized that she wasn’t the one consumed; she used her strength to consume it.
She twisted, drawing the swirling darkness into a whirlpool around her, like cotton candy on a stick. Yes, there it was. Its power surged inside her. She snapped at a tendril. Let her be a monster, then!
Her teeth sank into the tentacles, tough as octopus. They were the same flesh, and what had been flimsy was easy to grab and shove. Black blood spurted into her mouth, filling her with power.
She grabbed another.
It had tried to gain power over her, but two could play that game.
She filled her mouth. Flesh tore. Who had more power now?
It consumed worlds, but she consumed it.
Fiction © Copyright H.E.Roulo
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from H.E.Roulo:

Plague Master: Sanctuary Dome

When Samantha’s brother goes missing, the trail leads to Julius Cerberon, the rich philanthropist who built a dome for the sufferers of mankind’s newest disease. Can she really accuse the universe’s greatest humanitarian of murder? Meanwhile, on a downtrodden planet, Trevor has the unenviable job of zombie bait. He saves his dream girl, but she is infected. He escapes to the domed utopia where the infected are quarantined until they change. Then the dome breaks and a planet’s worth of zombies invade. And his girl could change any minute now.

Available on Amazon!

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