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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_03_Sept2021

“I was framed!” said the Kraken
by Alex Grehy

“I was framed!” said the Kraken.
We shook our heads, not believing a word. His arachnoid strangeness screamed guilt in our minds. We chose not to see the wisdom in his ocean deep eyes.
“I’m not a monster!” said the Kraken.
We shook our heads, recalling the skinless bodies of our townsfolk and tourists, left on the shore where salty wavelets caressed their agony.
“It wasn’t me!” said the Kraken.
We shook our heads, our elders had warned us not to trust the hideous beast, so unlike us, whose lies would lead us to death in his arms.
“Please listen” the Kraken implored.
We erected defences. Stout posts prevented the brute from reaching the beach; protecting the innocent from the flaying grasp of his tentacles.
“Do not trust the shells!” said the Kraken
The shells drew us in, their lovely iridescence awakened our sympathy. We knew, somehow, that they were refugees, driven from the sea by the Kraken.
“They are deadly!” the Kraken cried.
We knew he would come, the shells were the bait. Closer he swam calling his warnings. We pulled the net tight around his flailing limbs.
“Do not touch them!” cried the Kraken.
We did not heed him; our ears filled with sea whispers from the beautiful shells; the sting of their poison unnoticed. 
“Mercy!” begged the Kraken.
We made him suffer for each of the deaths that we believed he had caused. The monster who claimed to protect us. The sea turned purple with ink and blood.
“Give them mercy!” the Kraken’s last words.
We did not understand he was calling to them, to grant us compassion. There was none to be had. The sun set gold, the shells glowed as we fell, gleaming feral as they slithered over our beach naked skins. Their razor teeth rasped, stripped our skins, slowly. Anchored by toxins, immobile, aware, we suffered as he had, betrayed.
Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

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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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sheri White @sheriw1965 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_02_Sept2021The Last Company Cookout
by Sheri White

Doug sat at a picnic table under the pavilion, drinking a beer and wishing he could be anywhere but at the stupid mandatory company cookout. He sipped at a beer and nibbled at some chips, watching his coworkers play softball and volleyball. He thought about joining a horseshoe game, but couldn’t be bothered to get up.
To make matters worse, the DJ played music – “music” – he didn’t recognize, but knew he hated. His head throbbed in time to the obnoxious beats that were so loud he couldn’t think.
“Hey, Doug. Looks like you’re having a good time.”
“Yeah, right.” Doug rolled his eyes at Matthew as he sat down across from him. “I’d rather be paying bills or taking a vacation with the RAISE or BONUS  we should have gotten instead of this stupid cookout.”
“Hell, yes! This fucking party isn’t going to put gas in my car.”
“So you’re not a joiner either, Matthew? Don’t like games?”
“Nah, not my thing. Plus it’s so freaking hot. I’m so out of shape I’d probably drop dead of heat stroke.”
They chuckled together. “One good thing about this heat, though,” said Doug.
“What’s that?”
Doug gestured towards the park with his beer. “Female coworkers in skimpy clothes. Much better than Casual Fridays, huh?”
Matthew laughed. “Guess I hadn’t really noticed.”
“Are you kidding? Check it out – who knew the president’s secretary was so…” Doug gestured with cupped hands to mimic huge breasts.
“Apparently the president did – I hear she can’t type for shit and can barely get callers through to the right person.”
“Oh, damn – look at that tight little caboose,” Doug said, gesturing at the volleyball game. “I’ve never seen her before. Is she new to the company?”
Matthew shook his head. “No. She’s my wife.”
Doug’s cheeks reddened. “Well, now that I’ve put my foot in my mouth, I’m going to hop over to the port-a-potties and take a leak.” He swung his legs over the picnic bench and stood up. “Look, I’m sorry, man. That was really uncool.”
Matthew chuckled. “It’s fine, Doug. No worries. Want me to grab a beer for you?”
“That’d be great. Something like Bud in a can, though. None of that craft beer crap.”
***
Doug re-joined Matthew at the table a few minutes later. He grabbed the beer in front of him. “Thanks, man.”
“Sure.” Matthew stared at Doug, as if waiting for something.
“You okay, Matt? Did I do something besides insult your wife?” Doug laughed a little uncertainly.
“No. Like I said, no big deal.” He took a pull of his craft beer but didn’t take his eyes off Doug.
It’s time to go, thought Doug. He tipped the can to his mouth and drank the beer quickly. Suddenly he screamed and dropped the can. He clutched his throat, then clawed at his lips.
“Something wrong, Doug?” Matthew sat calmly and took another sip of his beer.
Doug forcefully coughed, pounding his fist on the table. A few bees flew out of his mouth. “Help,” he whispered.
“Man, that is fucked up. Sorry, guy – I didn’t realize bees had gotten in your beer.”
“Epi pen…my car…”
Doug fell off the bench and got on his hands and knees. He kept coughing, trying to dislodge bees that were in his mouth and down his throat. He turned onto his back, weakly using his fingers to get into his mouth. His medical alert bracelet shone in a sunbeam.
Matthew knelt down beside Doug, watching the man’s tongue swell, and his eyes squeezing almost shut.
“You…knew. Bees…kill…me,” Doug barely got the words out.
“And you knew that was my wife. You knew it when you tried to rape her at the Christmas party.”
Matthew put his face right into Doug’s.
And you knew it today, you piece of shit.” He sat back as Doug lightly convulsed, watching bees crawl out of his mouth and nose.
Fiction © Copyright Sheri White
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Sheri White:

sw`Don’t Turn Out the Lights: A Tribute to Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Featuring stories from R.L. Stine and Madeleine Roux, this middle grade horror anthology, curated by New York Times bestselling author and master of macabre Jonathan Maberry, is a chilling tribute to Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark.

Flesh-hungry ogres? Brains full of spiders? Haunted houses you can’t escape? This collection of 35 terrifying stories from the Horror Writers Association has it all, including ghastly illustrations from Iris Compiet that will absolutely chill readers to the bone.

So turn off your lamps, click on your flashlights, and prepare—if you dare—to be utterly spooked!

The complete list of writers: Linda D. Addison, Courtney Alameda, Jonathan Auxier, Gary A. Braunbeck, Z Brewer, Aric Cushing, John Dixon, Tananarive Due, Jamie Ford, Kami Garcia, Christopher Golden, Tonya Hurley, Catherine Jordan, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Alethea Kontis, N.R. Lambert, Laurent Linn, Amy Lukavics, Barry Lyga, D.J. MacHale, Josh Malerman, James A. Moore, Michael Northrop, Micol Ostow, Joanna Parypinksi, Brendan Reichs, Madeleine Roux, R.L. Stine, Margaret Stohl, Gaby Triana, Luis Alberto Urrea, Rosario Urrea, Kim Ventrella, Sheri White, T.J. Wooldridge, Brenna Yovanoff

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_01_Sept2021

Oh Little Town of Pottsville
by K.R. Morrison

Such a lovely little town. The houses were arranged in neat order, the businesses close enough for convenience but away from the quiet neighborhoods. Only foot traffic here—everything was compact enough for easy access anywhere.
There was only one problem, and it was one that a competent realtor will tell anyone—location. However, the townsfolk made do. Most of the time they weren’t bothered by the sounds whooshing overhead, the squealing as the great beasts swerved away from their skies.
They made do.
But one night, as they gazed toward the heavens, a bright light came upon them. And this time it meant business.
The citizens wasted no time—down they went into the underground caverns. And not a moment too soon.
Walter cursed as his tire hit the pothole. He’d seen it coming, but had been driving too fast to avoid it. He hoped that perhaps he’d avoided damage, but it was immediately apparent that he now had a flat, or worse.
He pulled over, checked his tire, and stomped around to the trunk to retrieve the spare. But just as he was about to root around in the cluttered space, he noticed a strange light out of the corner of his eye.
“Well, that’s strange,” he muttered to himself.
The light was coming from the pothole!
Curious, he went over to check it out, and was astounded at what he saw.
There, inside the pothole, was the remains of a town. It looked like some kids had gotten bored and had put up a play town in the middle of the road.
“Well, don’t that beat all.”
Walter had just uttered those words when, suddenly, he felt a warm, then hot, then stinging sensation all over his body. He gasped at the little lights that were swarming him, then screamed in terror and pain as the first onslaught of very tiny people burrowed into his skin. As he swatted at them in one place, they rapidly regrouped and attacked another area. He ran into the brush along the road, trying to scrape them off on the trees and branches.
But they had gotten in too far. When the first wave hit his heart and internal organs, he knew he was a goner.
The next day, the police took away Walter’s car and started an investigation. But they’d been here before, under similar circumstances.
They all avoided the pothole, the interior of which had rebuilt itself during the night. For if they peered too closely, they would find that the fine clapboard houses were actually constructed of bone, the roads paved with skin, and the tiny curtains in the windows of the meat pie bakery oddly like the bits of clothing they had found scattered throughout the woods.
Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_03_Sept2021
View from the Pier
by Marge Simon

“A man lives so many different lengths of time.”
          -Steve Hall, The Raw Shark Texts
Before him is a lake that stretches for miles. The remains of an ancient pier stand as silent sentries, testimonials to the past. It’s an afternoon in early spring. The wind is from the east, a fresh and mildly fishy bouquet. He stares into the water dancing beyond the shore. Lives grow and exist out there in the shimmering water. Mesmerized, he can’t take his eyes off the horizon. Strange, but he feels the boards of the pier beneath his bare feet. Just then, he catches sight of a motor boat Streaking haphazardly toward him, out of control. It’s a familiar boat, with bright red and blue streaks from bow to stern. Now it’s close enough, he sees two people struggling over the throttle. On they come, rushing so fast the boat is lifted out of the water as it hits the platform.
She was so pretty, was Marianne, with chestnut curls hair and a dimple when she smiled. He’d adored her. But oh, what a temper! There was an argument – he doesn’t remember why, only that she’d grabbed the throttle away from him, had it in high –all of a sudden, and the pier was coming up too fast … then her head smacked the shield, all that blood …
A sad old man stands on the shore of a lake. Tears in his eyes, he gazes at the remains of a weathered pier. Testimonials to the past, they glow scarlet in the sunset.
Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Marge Simon:

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The Demeter Diaries
by Marge Simon and‎ Bryan D. Dietrich

‘The Demeter Diaries’ is a record of love and longing and the inevitable horror that arises between the minds of Mina Harker and Vlad Dracula as they court one another in waking dreams. The dialogue, written in both poetry and prose, imagines a psychic connection that develops between the two even before Dracula arrives in England. As Dracula makes his way from Transylvania to Whitby on the doomed ship Demeter, the two would-be lovers transmit their thoughts across the waves and lands that separate them, alternately wooing and terrifying one another with the idea of love eternal and all the dark delicacies necessary to ensure it. Front cover art by Wendy Saber Core, interior illustrations by Luke Spooner.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author A.F. Stewart @scribe77 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_02_Sept2021Bottle Bees
by A.F. Stewart

Mama had a habit of leaving her soda pop bottles on the porch, just a little bit of liquid still lingering in the bottom. That attracted bees, crawling over the top of the glass like flies; some even flew inside and drowned in the sugary remnants.
I always felt sad, but Mama laughed.
“Serves ‘em right,” she’d say.
Mama was cruel like that. Never gave a weaker creature a chance if she could lord it over you. Make you squirm or hurt. She liked hurting people. Especially me. Funny thing, she never did realize what she was teaching me.
Not ‘til the day I took the hammer to her head and bashed her skull in. Right there on the porch next to the bottle bees.
“Serves you right,” I whispered, and then buried her beside that porch. I planted flowers on top of her remains, pretty ones to attract the bees. They deserved better than Mama’s cruelty. We both did.
Fiction © Copyright A.F. Stewart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from A.F. Stewart:

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Visions and Nightmares

Tragedy spares no one… and takes no prisoners.
In the twilight shadows, secrets are revealed past the whispers of madness.

Wander into the realm of the old gods with Elenora, where humanity and marriage are a prison.
Step through a looking glass of dark horrors with an Alice you never knew.
Join with Zenna to seek the truth as her death by magic grows closer.
Journey with Olivia as she crosses paths with a monster of the forest and runs for her life.
Watch Isobel summon the faerie to solve her problem of an unwanted husband.
Shiver as Doctor Killbride experiments with corpses to create life from death.
All that and more await within the pages.

Ten stories. Ten women.
Who will survive? Who will fall? And who will succumb to their inner evil?
Find out in Visions and Nightmares.

Warning: This book contains disturbing scenes that may be upsetting to some readers.

Available on Amazon!

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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!


Image_01_Sept2021Night of the Aurora
by Christina Sng

When the aurora appears
The dead return,
Surrounding the homes
Of those they once loved.

My neighbor’s young son
Rushed out to see his mom,
Was swooped up in her arms
And carried into the dark.

The postmaster’s wife stood
Outside his house where he
Now lived with his new love,
Calling softly for her children

While their father held them
Tightly around their necks
Till one broke loose and fled
To his mother. Then, the other.

Mrs Lee, who lost her husband
Just last summer, stood alone
In the garden, until his shadow
Loomed and enveloped her

As did Bob, the golden retriever,
Tentatively wagging his tail
Before running into the mist
Where his human awaited.

The sheriff raced outside
To shoot his dead brother but
Was snatched into the darkness,
Screaming about shapeshifters.

I sat and waited on the porch,
Carrying my stuffed ragdoll,
The one Mama made for me
When I was first born.

Kitty sat beside me,
Hissing when Papa appeared.
Startled, I backed away
From his outstretched arms.

“Are you Papa?” I asked.
“Of course,” he replied.
“Tell me something
Only Papa would know.”

He smiled, “Once,
You got lost in a mall,
But I found you
And took you home.”

It was a lie.
Papa never took me out.
He was always at work
Or with his other girls.

I backed away into the house
And slammed the door shut,
Deadbolting all the locks
As Mama ran down the stairs,

Almost tripping over Kitty
Who darted away in surprise.
Mama held me in her arms,
Never chastising me.

“You knew I had to try,” I cried.
She nodded, weeping with me.
We held each other until dawn,
Till the sun arrived

And the aurora was gone.
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 Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_04_Sept2021The Car
by Kathleen McCluskey

I remember my beloved, Michael and how we would enjoy the open road. Having the wind rushing on me with the top down was what I looked forward to on Saturdays. The many sunsets we would watch were awe inspiring. The star gazing nights filled me with a sense of purpose. Now he is just a memory, the crazed man with a knife changed my destiny forever.
   Parked in our usual spot on the overlook that had a spectacular view of the mountains, we listened to music and anticipated the joy of the sunset. We waited for the sky to turn the beautiful blended colors of apricot and crimson. Our peaceful bliss was interrupted when my Michael was violently taken.
   An old, run down pickup truck parked beside us. Michael was trying to fix the rag top when the hunch backed man attacked from behind. He grabbed Michael; one hand over his mouth and the other held a very large knife at Michael’s back. I could only watch in horror as he repeatedly stabbed him in the lower back. He fell in a heap. The dirty, disfigured man lifted him and threw him in the back of the truck. I was to never see him again.
   Now I sit, alone. The seasons change and still I sit, alone and waiting. All I can do is think about the good times and Michael. My beloved will never again be with me. I can feel myself rotting on the inside and the outside. Vines from trees long forgotten by landscapers weave their way through my windows and into the seats. I’ve already lost one of my mirrors and rust has overtaken my drive shaft. My only joy comes when the robins return to nest in my once magnificent glove box. My existence is a mere shadow of what it once was. I excitedly anticipate when all of my parts return to nature and I can finally rid myself of this loss. I will see my beloved once again.
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 judgmental 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 consequences that transpire in the first of THE LONG FALL series.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_03_Sept2021World’s Edge
by Ela Lourenco

Weary, barely able to lift my feet
After my years long journey
I practically collapse on the sand
At last, I have arrived
My final destination.
The salt air burns my worn lungs
The golden sky hurts my eyes
Stumps of wood are all that remain
Of the once bustling pier that stood here
There is no bird song, 
No one stirs but the gentle breeze.
I am alone
The last one left
And come tomorrow, I too will be gone
For it is the World’s end.
Fiction © Copyright Ela Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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More from Ela Lourenco:

awakeningDragon Born: Book Three
Awakening

The Royal tournament, the Karnac, is fully underway. But there is deception and betrayal at every turn. Unseen dark forces are at play, both within the school grounds and out with. Even the Gods are unable to help when a new threat looms over them all.The very existence of Azmantium depends on Lara fully becoming the Child of Fire and casting aside the Shadows lurking in every corner of her beloved planet.Can she overcome the challenges that await? Will the Shadows cover the world in darkness? Only Lara and her friends can change the fate of Azmantium.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_02_Sept2021

Oubliette
by Naching T. Kassa

Nalin Kratides awoke, her cheek pressed to cold stone, head aching.
She pushed herself up to sitting position and pressed her fingers against her temple to keep the room from spinning. She glanced around. 
A table stood at the center of the small stone room and two things sat upon it. One was a small lantern which lit the area. The other was a green glass bottle. Something buzzed around its lip.
Nalin rose to her feet, a chill gripping her heart. 
The winged insects, yellowjackets, landed on the soda bottle and crawled about on it. Nalin stepped back and hugged the wall. Though small, their sting held death for her.
She searched the room for an exit, careful to keep away from the table. In the ceiling, ten feet above, the edges of a trapdoor became visible.
The memory of her imprisonment came back in a series of hazy images. She had been called to the home of Elliott Marsten to investigate the murder of his mother, Lila Harris, the Scream Queen. The French castle, an exact replica of Castle Penoit from Lila’s film, The Eyes of the Cat, contained a fully functional dungeon and more than three oubliettes. At least, that’s what Elliott had said before handing her a bottle of soda from the large kitchen fridge. If Nalin had been smart, she wouldn’t have taken the drink.
Elliott, thin, pale and more boy than man, had led her down past the dungeon to the crypt which held his mother’s body, but she hadn’t been alone. John had been with her.
John!
Detective John Warren had accompanied her on the investigation and had, in fact, brought it to her. Only her particular paranormal talents could solve the twenty-year-old cold case. Only she could speak with the dead Lila and discover the name of her murderer.
But where was John? Where had he gone when the drug had finally worked its way through her system and abandoned her to oblivion?
The yellowjackets continued to buzz. One ventured a little farther from the bottle and flew toward her.
Nalin dropped to her knees, her heart in her throat. She stayed on the cool floor until the insect returned to its companions.
Before she had passed out and John had vanished, she remembered her conversation with Lila Harris. Elliott had opened the casket and revealed the withered form of his mother, the dry skin of her face pulled back to reveal a perfect grin. The tunnel had opened before Nalin as it always did in the presence of death, and she had entered it.
“Who are you?” the skeletal form had asked. “Where is my son?”
“He’s in the room, awaiting my return. He asked me to come here.”
“Oh…” the woman said. She coughed, and the dry dust of decades spewed from her throat. “You are Nalin Kratides.”
“How did you know?”
“I may be dead, but I’m far from lonely. Your name has been whispered to me for years.”
“Then you know why I’ve come?”
“You have come to wed him. He’s brought you to meet me.”
Nalin’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re not going to marry him?”
“No. He brought me here to find out who murdered you.”
Lila rose, her dry skin cracking. She reached out and gripped Nalin’s wrist with her bony fingers. “You must go. Leave now! Leave before he kills you too!”
“Elliott?”
“Yes. He’s like you. He can speak with the dead. He prefers us this way. He prefers the dead. He’s known of your talent for years and he’s obsessed with you. He wants to keep you—”
“Now, now, Mother,” a voice said. Elliott stepped from the shadows which surrounded them. “Don’t speak to your future daughter-in-law that way.”
Nalin had lost consciousness then. She had woken in the oubliette. 
She had to find a way out.
In the lantern’s glow, new evidence of Elliott’s madness came to light. Photographs and newspaper clippings of Nalin covered the stone walls. Many of them detailed Nalin’s cases. One, an interview she’d done for a magazine, spoke of her allergy to yellowjackets. He had researched her well, but he had missed one vital detail. 
“John,” she whispered. “Come catch me.”
Nalin removed her shoe and approached the table. She lashed out at the insects, and they rose into the air.
***
Elliott hurried out of his mother’s crypt and to the dungeon above the second of three oubliettes. John Warren groaned as Elliott passed the instrument of torture, he had tied him to. The chains holding him jangled, but Elliott paid him little heed. He needed to deal with Nalin first.
Nalin. The beautiful woman who shared his talent. How long had he coveted her? Fifteen years? Soon she’d be dead, stung by the insects below. Soon she’d belong to him forever. 
He found the trapdoor, quickly lifted it, and gaped at the scene below.
The glass bottle lay shattered on the floor, Nalin’s shoe not far from it. Near the lantern on the table, a tiny black and yellow abdomen gleamed.
Nalin had disappeared.
Elliott rose to his feet. Where had she gone? She was too short to use the table as a means of escape. 
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned. John Warren smiled and then a fist smashed Elliott’s nose. He fell to the floor, bleeding.
Nalin appeared beside John. She too smiled.
“How?” Elliott cried.
“You shouldn’t have left me the yellowjacket,” she said. “When I killed it, the tunnel opened for me.” 
“And when she called me, I pulled her out,” John replied. 
“But that’s impossible. That would require the skill of astral projection.” 
“It would. Are you good at astral projection?” 
“No.”
“Well, I am.” He dragged Elliott to his feet. “By the way, you’re under arrest.”
“For what? Attempted murder?” It was his turn to grin. “I won’t be in prison long.”
“I’m not charging you with that.”
“What then?”
“You killed your mother,” Nalin said. “I’m sure another conversation with her will reveal how you did it.”
Elliott struggled out of John’s grip and leaped toward the trapdoor. He fell, striking the table and rolling to the stone floor. Something crunched below his left ear, a sickening sound like the snapping of bone. He landed on his back unable to move.
Nalin stared at him from above her face, ashen. She was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 
He vowed then and there he’d see her again.
Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from Naching T. Kassa:

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Arterial Bloom

Lush. Brutal.

Beautiful. Visceral.

Crystal Lake Publishing proudly presents Arterial Bloom, an artful juxtaposition of the magnificence and macabre that exist within mankind. Each tale in this collection is resplendent with beauty, teeth, and heart.

Edited by the Bram Stoker Award-winning writer Mercedes M. Yardley, Arterial Bloom is a literary experience featuring sixteen stories from some of the most compelling dark authors writing today.

With a foreword by HWA Lifetime Achievement Award Recipient Linda D. Addison, you are invited to step inside and let the grim flowers wind themselves comfortably around your bones.

Available on Amazon!

 

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

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_01_Sept2021Sacrifice – Me or You?
by Asena Lourenco

It needed to be stopped. The white sheen in the puddle evaporated as my foot touched the water. My thighs ached as I darted through the towering woods, my chest tightening with the burning pain of intense exercise. Longing pushed me on, determined to get there before it was too late. My hot breath reached out for oxygen as I slowed to a halt. A painful numbing sensation clouded my brain, I hated myself for letting someone else convince me to sin. Rolling rivulets of rain cascaded down my cheek, wading their way through my dripping eyelashes. Gradually, the faint conversations of the citizens of the nearby village became nearby screams. Oh lord. My head felt heavy with the knowledge of what the future of these people would bring. My eyes fell to the glistening water in front of me, the bright turquoises blending smoothly into dark blues as the water wobbled in the reflection of the night sky. My heart sank. This time, a different kind of liquid streamed down my cheek, another small reminder that what I did could never been undone. I needed to be stopped.
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 14 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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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment