Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Terrie Leigh Relf @TLRelf @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_FEB_LOHMurder in Her Eyes
by Terrie Leigh Relf

The girl stood by the roadside, her beautiful party dress covered with a boy’s dark jacket, a teddy bear held loosely before her. It was cold outside, almost brutally so, but she seemed comfortable, almost relaxed, despite the blood-stained gauze that partially covered her forehead and eyes. I stopped the car to ask if she needed help, whether I could give her a ride. She climbed into the passenger’s seat with a smile, said “thank you,” and we drove down the rural lane. 
treasured moments
with a childhood friend
murdered decades ago
Fiction © Copyright Terrie Leigh Relf
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Terrie Leigh Relf:

The Sisterhood of the Blood Moon

For thousands of Earth years, the Transgalactic Consortium has had a quiet interest in this planet and its inhabitants, the Haurans. While the Sisterhood of the Blood Moon works together with the Consortium and Haurans to maintain balance in the universe, the Blood Moon is fast approaching. The power of this moon reveals untold secrets . . . including a sacred covenant with the Mora Spiders. There is an ancient pact that needs to be honored—but at what cost and for whose purpose? The world may come to an end. But will there be a chance for a new beginning?

Available for purchase from the Alban Lake Store!

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Women in Horror Month 12

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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!

003_FEB_LOH

Playroom Regrets
by Angela Yuriko Smith

away, crimson globe!
—an escapee, on the run—
vanishing though drains
leaving pain and tears
with the wailing child behind.
the end of a world.
hurled into sewers
by a sibling. catacombs
and new horizons
to surprise one ball
breaking free of the playroom
ready for new games
and refrains of song
snatched from young lips to be lost.
bobbing, he waited
degraded in muck
uplifted by adventure.
he had no regrets.
she crept from the soot
denizen of the ashes
child of oily grime
in time to wonder
at this strange, Upper World gift
now smudged in her hands.
lands from whence it came
a mystery to the Blind Ones
forever in dark.
embarking no more
from these strange and nightmare lands—
missing the play room.
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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lori R. Lopez @LoriRLopez @darcnina #LoH #fiction #poem #poetry

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_FEB_LOHThe Cellar Under the Morgue
by Lori R. Lopez

“Is this where the bodies are buried?”
Delivered as a joke — in an uneasy manner.
The Patient stifled a laugh or scream.
“Where am I?”  A nervous query.
The figure faced away, rigid yet serene.
Head slightly bowed.  A statue or a Nurse?
The angel turned, pale as White Marble.
“Under the Morgue.”  A distant reply.
“Is my surgery done?”  Shaky, rising off
an unyielding surface, afraid to ask the outcome.
A meager gown did nothing for the chill.
He stumbled, feeling inept.  “This is awkward.”
Baby steps.  A gesture at curved molds
shaped like Grave Markers.  Hollowed-out
Tombstones.  Frames lacking substance.
No name or date; awaiting.  “What are those?”
Intense, she granted a smile, the kind that
can mask unthinkable notions, the very worst
of plots.  He marveled at perfect features.
“I drugged you.”  As if spoken from afar.
Her broad stony orbs could have been ice.
A cool sculpted hand lifted to caress his cheek.
The contact, light, almost imagined, burned.
“Wheeled you here.”  A quiet boast.
How it scorched!  The truth.  That touch.
His jaw sank.  No sound emerged.  His heart
thrashed.  A fish on land.  A fallen bird.
“My daddy tinkered.”  Cryptic and faint.
The flopping subsided.  His mouth gaped,
askew.  Vocal Chords strained — rasping for
words, as fists uncurled bore garish prizes.
“You needed work.”  Scarcely audible.
Ears embedded; occult symbols in each palm!
His thumbs were missing, removed, protruding
hornlike over temples.  “No!” wailed a freak.
“Now you’re beautiful.”  Too soft, exultant.
He sensed the digits without reaching —
sewn, fused in crazed symmetry.  Outraged,
unsteady, glaring, he whirled to escape . . .
“My father’s workshop.”  So dim her voice.
And viewed the steel slab beneath a lamp.
Medical devices.  Scalpels, Forceps, a Bone Saw.
He raised his hands to either side of his face.
Loud and clear behind him:  “Stay with me.”
The man could hear through his palms, beside
his mug.  Turning back, he noticed she too was
marred.  One of her eyes blinked on her hand.
She lowered it.  “Aren’t we wonderful?”
He beheld a scar, flesh rough, sealed to hide
an empty socket.  And felt ashamed of staring,
of treating her features as deformed.  Ugly!
“We’re both unique.”  He offered an open hand.
Their fingers locked.  She chattered, beaming.
“We only bury the mistakes.  I knew you’d be
the one!  My poppa made you just for me.”
Her beau drew her near.  “The perfect pair.”
He chose to ignore a field of Headstones
in a corner of the earthen cellar floor.  Love
is blind.  At last he found his match . . .
Simultaneously cured of being all thumbs.
Fiction © Copyright Lori R. Lopez
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Lori R. Lopez:

LoriRLopez_Darkverse Darkverse: The Shadow Hours

A rich gathering of poetry with a dismal twilight atmosphere, a brooding nature, an eerie tone . . . DARKVERSE: THE SHADOW HOURS encompasses such pieces written by Lori R. Lopez between 2009 and 2017, collected in three of her POETIC REFLECTIONS volumes along with humorous and serious verse. This ample compendium allows a more focused reading experience and mood — presenting poems that share speculative themes, flashes of horror, glimpses of madness.

Lori is the author of THE DARK MISTER SNARK, THE STRANGE TAIL OF ODDZILLA, LEERY LANE, MONSTROSITIES, AN ILL WIND BLOWS, and THE FAIRY FLY among other tales. She has been called a storyteller, whether composing verse or prose.

The aim of her Darkverse series is to offer a chilling trek through unlit stretches where all manner of creeps and kooks may lurk; where graveyards and bogs and full-moons abound. The pages of The Shadow Hours illuminate those morbid uncanny perils and dreads that inhabit drab corners, the known and unknown terrors of the night. Vivid and distinct, her voice echoes our worst fears then delves beyond, exposing hitherto unimaginable frights.

Prepare to confront a motley array of ghouls and menaces that might just move under your bed.

DARKVERSE: THE SHADOW HOURS is an Elgin Award Nominee and a 2018 Kindle Book Awards Poetry Finalist. Look for an Illustrated Print Edition with quirky art by the author.

Available on Amazon!

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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!

001_FEB_LOH

In Praise of the Younger Model
by Suzanne Madron
It was getting harder and harder to keep up with the trends. What was in? What was out? This week it was one style, next week another.
The fact of the matter was that getting older was out and being younger and younger was in. Youth was and always had been in high demand. Ultimately, what was needed was a complete makeover. Start from scratch and be done with the whole thing. Sustainability was always the issue, though, wasn’t it? How did one manage to keep ahead of the aging process?
“This procedure,” the doctor said, pointing to one of the images on the promotional poster plastered to the office’s institutional neutral beige wall, “will ensure dates for decades. And this one,” she pointed to another picture, “will help you maintain your youthful glow.”
It was as simple as picking off a menu. They went through the options and the decision was made. The doctor smiled at the selection of the first – and most expensive – procedure. “Let’s get you started then!” As she applied the mask that would administer the anesthesia she said, “I have to warn you, your friends and family won’t recognize you when we’re done here.” And she giggled conspiratorially.
But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To be a whole new person.
The procedure took hours. The outcomes were unexpected. Indeed, there was no recognition.
The extender bars in the shins were painful and the missing ribs were painful but barely missed. A glance in the mirror, after the bandages were removed, ensured he would always be attractive as long as he was wearing one of his prepared faces.
“You look great!” the doctor exclaimed. “And you made the right choice. You hardly even notice my face lines until I take it off.” She picked at what appeared to be a small scar along the underside of her earlobe and peeled her face away. “See? Easy peasy! Just remember to replace your face every month or so so it doesn’t get attached and moisturize!”
He tottered out on his elongated and scarred legs, wearing his new face, and with a prescription for more lab-grown faces in his pocket.
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 Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_FEB_LOHEye See You
by Kathleen McCluskey

Lieutenant Carson was a hardened detective with the San Diego police department and had seen his share of gruesome murders. He was baffled by the sheer brutality of the murders being perpetrated onto his city. He leaned back in his chair and took a long drag of his cigarette. A large sigh came from him as he recalled the most recent of these murders. He looked out the window and down onto the city that he loved and sighed again. Shaking his head, he began his report.
He remembered how the responding officer to the 9-11 call had thrown up and needed assistance from the ambulance. With his hands shaking he called the detective. When Carson arrived he was shocked to see a twelve year old girl with large bloody bandages on her eyes. He immediately knew that this was the work of the man that the press named, “The Eye See You” killer. Upon further investigation he saw that she still clutched her stuffed teddy bear. He had to push the lump down from his throat to speak to the other officers. He wanted to find this man and shoot him in the face.
Later that evening Carson fell asleep on his couch. Since Linda left he rarely slept in their marital bed, it was just too painful for him. As he slept, he began to dream. Kristy visited him in his dreams. She still had the bloodied bandages on her eyes and her teddy bear clutched in her hand. Kristy took the detective by the hand and showed him her death. He could see the back of a large man standing over her. She was pleading for her life, begging and crying. He pushed her down with his hand on her throat and cut her eyes out. It looked as though he was repulsed by what he had done and began to bandage her. Kristy moved the detective closer to the scene. The man turned and looked right at them. Carson was horrified to see himself staring back at them. He had found the “Eye See You” killer.
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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_FEB_LOHLet’s Roll
by Elaine Pascale

“Let’s Roll.”
That is how we routinely begin.
Truly, we begin with make-up and costumes, our “armor,” but that is done before, before we get to the alley.
The lights are low.
The atmosphere has hints of soft pretzels, of beer, but mostly of carpeting that sports a variety of fluid-born stains.
We bring our own pins. They are sharp as fangs.
We ignore the whimpers; the fear they feel is fair.
After what we have been through, it is more than fair.
It is nothing personal, but what they represent.
We usually spike their drinks—a way of using their own weapon against them.
They never suspect a thing. The way we quiet beforehand should serve as a clue.
The jungle always becomes silent before an attack.
Seeing the shadowy figures, by the pins, conjures the voices that brought them here.
Lane 1 had said, “You’d be so much prettier if you smiled.”
Lane 2, at work and in front of others said, “That’s a man’s job, let me do that.”
Lane 3 had mansplained the public transit system we had taken every day for years.
Lane 4 questioned if the lack of “keeping sweet” vibes were due to monthly menses.
Lane 5 had fatally asked, “What were you wearing?” after an assault.
Lane 5 would go last.
They are tied, spread eagled and facing us.
And we roll.
We take turns; we take our time.
Until we run out of men.
Until we run out of the need.
Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of  Pixabay.com

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More from Elaine Pascale:

The Blood Lights

They victimize all…

Jezzie Mitchell is in anguish; with her brother’s murder still on her mind, she’s noticed strange behavior among the girls in the residential treatment center where she works. Is there a connection between the contagion on Cape Cod and the deadly Bahamas vacation that changed her life?

Jezzie reaches out to former lover Lou Collins, a scholar who has chased proof of the lights for decades. Will he be able to solve the mystery of the lights in time?

Intensely competitive, reporter Bridgette Collins knows the lights are a way to secure fame in her career. And while it’ll put the final nail into the coffin of her ex-husband’s career, she vows to know the secrets of the lights. Even if it means unleashing a world-wide epidemic…

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Melissa R. Mendelson @melissmendelson @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_FEB_LOH

The Nightmare Eater
by Melissa R. Mendelson

The walls were painted black.  Only the table was dimly lit, a small red table set between two chairs, and in one, he waited.  As he waited, he held the box up to his eye.  He took in the room, but he couldn’t see anything.  There was nothing to process, and then right on cue, she appeared.  And he was shocked to see that she had both her eyes.
“You’re a Nightmare Eater, right?”
“I am.”  She sat in the seat opposite him.  “What nightmare plagues you?”
“The one where people are just staring at me.  They’re not saying anything.  When I close my eye, I see them, and they see me.”  He pressed the box against his eye, scanning her, trying to absorb her data, but there was nothing to read.  She was blank.  “You’re like a ghost,” he said.
“I eat ghosts, so would you want me to eat yours?”  She stared at the box, not hiding her disgust.  “Twenty bucks.”
“That’s it?”  He laughed, pulling a twenty from his pocket, but when he laid his hand on the table, she touched it, sending a cold shock through his body.  “What was that?”
“Tell me.  How do you see the world?”
“What do you mean?  I see it like this.”  He looked around the room with the box pushed against his eye.  “Why do you have both your eyes?  Don’t you want a box?”
“I don’t need a box to see.”  She held her left hand up, and her right eye vanished.  It appeared on the back of her hand.  “I see your nightmares, and I eat them.”  Her eye blinked.  “You can go now.”
“That’s it?”
“Were you expecting Tarot Cards or crystals?”  She lowered her hand, and her eye returned to its socket.
“No.  Whatever.”  He moved away from her.  “If I have any nightmares, then I want my money back.”
“You won’t have nightmares when you sleep,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Lower the box from your eye, and look outside.”
“Whatever.”  He stormed outside.
A moment later, she heard him scream.  She smiled to herself as her eye returned to her hand.  Every time he lowered that box from his eye, he would see the haunted faces of those people that he feared.  They would stare at him, follow him with empty eye sockets and hollow screams.
Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More from Melissa R. Mendelson:

nmkmmName’s Keeper

I got a one-way ticket out of hell. All I need to do is drive across country with a body in the trunk and run miscellaneous errands, but a lot of those errands come with a heavy price. And if I lose the body in the trunk, then I have to go back, and I’ll be damned if I return down there. I will fight to stay here, even if there is no rest for those wicked.

Available on Amazon!

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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!

001_FEB_LOH
Ilse Koch’s Red Mask
by Marge Simon

Pure Arian, Ilse was the auburn-haired wife of a Commandant. Dressed for such
occasions, she wore a blood-red mask to tour the camp at Buchenwald. With swinging hips and teasing smile, she sought to mesmerize. But should one man stare, should one Jew dare – he was a dead man then, or shortly after.
And they knew it.
And they feared that mask.
She selected only those poor souls with tattoos. It mattered not his age or face. Indeed, it was the prisoner’s skins she sought for trophies. Her pet project was turning them into lampshades from the factory at Buchenwald. The human hides became a plethora of other types of goods in time, which she priced and sold to the Reich’s officious wives.
And they all knew it.
And they all feared that mask.
The families of nearby Weimar were summoned to see her wares. On foot they came, all eager to please, not knowing what she had done. Imagine their faces, caught in shock,
once realization set in.! Many were tearful as they left, as many were terrified too.
And everyone knew it.
And everyone feared that mask.
Post Script
At “Buchenwald wanders a wraith in a mask, a bleeding lamp held high”;
the lamp-foot was made from a human foot and shinbone; on the shade side were tattoos and even nipples. On the occasion of Koch’s birthday party August 1941, the camp doctor brought the lamp to the Kochs’ villa. One of the party guests later said that the presentation of such a gift had been a huge success. Years later in her prison cell, a deranged Ilse committed suicide.
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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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Naching T. Kassa @NachingKassa @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_FEB_LOH

Deathbed
by Naching T. Kassa

Death waits for Erick Mossburn. She paces outside the heavy oak door of his bedroom, her tread slipper-soft, waiting for someone to allow her in. When his visitors enter and exit the room, he glimpses her pale face.
The heady scent of oxygen fills his nostrils. He cannot move his arms. As for his legs, they ceased to function years ago. Thin, almost skeletal, they lay motionless under the sheet. He couldn’t run even if he wanted to.
Two visitors enter the room, and through the open door, death becomes visible. Yesterday, she was a woman of seventeen, her face slashed and unrecognizable. Today, she is a little girl holding a grey rabbit with no ears. Her eyes blindfolded—no, bandaged. They bleed through and beneath the cloth. She wears a parka and a pretty dress. The door closes on her.
The visitors to his room must think he’s sleeping. They whisper, but the sound carries to him.
“How is he today, doctor?” the woman says.
“The same,” the doctor says. He scratches his greying beard.
The woman, his niece Matilda, nods her head. She dabs at her eyes before the mascara can run. “Can you…can you make him more comfortable?”
The doctor nods.
“He’s such a good man,” she says, a choke in her voice. “Everyone in town loves him. When his parents died, and he took over their restaurant business, no one believed he would succeed. Many made fun of him. He wasn’t bitter though. He worked hard and gave back to the community. They learned what a great man he is.”
The bedroom door opens as Matilda’s husband, Justin, enters. Mossburn’s eyes widen as Death adopts a new visage. The rotting corpse which had once been his father, glares at him and bares its teeth. The door shuts as the ghost reaches forward.
“Matilda,” Justin says. “Jill’s here.”
A chill creeps over Mossburn’s skin at the mention of his daughter’s name. He tries to rise, but strength flees. He raises the fingers of his left hand instead.
“Oh, I knew she’d come,” Matilda says, wiping away an ink-colored tear. “I knew she couldn’t stay away. Couldn’t hold that grudge forever. She has to say goodbye.”
Mossburn grunts, trying to attract attention.
“Jill hasn’t been the best daughter,” Matilda says to the doctor. “She was always rebellious. After her school friend, Dina Anthony died, she became positively insufferable. She deserted Uncle Erick at the age of eighteen and hasn’t been back since. Perhaps, she’s learned her lesson now.” She glances up at her husband. “Well, don’t just stand there, Justin. Bring her in.”
Justin nods and scurries from the room like an obedient squirrel. The doctor follows. Matilda turns toward Mossburn’s bed and smiles.
“Oh, Uncle Erick, I’m so glad you’re awake. Jill is here.”
“Don’t…” Mossburn says. He licks his dry lips and cracking lips. “Don’t let her…”
Matilda approaches. “What was that, Uncle Erick?”
His parched throat allows him only one more word. He voices it as loud as can.
“Alone.”
“You want to be alone with her? Oh, certainly. Certainly. We’ll all leave when she comes in.”
Mossburn cannot shake his head nor wave a hand. The chill reaches from his skin to his bones as Jill enters the room.
The girl he knew is twenty now. And though she wears a sad smile on her lips, her blue eyes are hard as ice.
“Father,” she says, her voice choked with tears. She comes to him and seats herself on the bed. Her cold hands take his.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Matilda says.
Mossburn groans and waves his fingers in protest, but Matilda crosses the room toward the door. He shuts his eyes as she exits. The minute she is gone, Jill’s melancholy smile fades.
“You see, father? You’re not the only one who can act.”
He cannot answer. Cannot plead.
“Can you see them now, father? That chain of ghosts you drag behind you? The faces used to be familiar. I don’t recognize most of them now.”
She rises to her feet, heading for the door. He clutches at her, but his fingers are too weak.
“I started seeing them at eighteen. They told me no one would believe me. That it would only get me killed. They promised to call me back someday. I wish they would’ve called me sooner.”
Her fingers touch the doorknob.
In his mind, he screams.
She opens the door.
Death enters wearing many faces and treading on silent feet. They grip him, pulling him from the earth.
Jill grins as they bear him away.
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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author A.F. Stewart @scribe77 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_FEB_LOHCircus of Pain
by A.F. Stewart

We are here forever.
The cycle eternal, caught in a perpetual loop of fire and death. See the acrobats burn, see the clowns choke on their own blood, see the jugglers fall to the rain of bullets. Hear our nightmare screams echo across time. We are ghosts imprinted on the fabric of reality by the horror of what we became. We stand in the spotlight, the centre ring dripping our blood, our gaping wounds on display for your amusement.
Life stolen, humanity shredded, all we have left is pain.
You did this to us, you with your morality and your righteous ways. You came with your guns and your fire. To destroy, to erase what you didn’t understand. What you judged. The reverberation of your intolerance cycles with us, a resonance of your ancestors, of your legacy.
From beyond death, we endure.
Now we will judge.
And you will join us here in hell.
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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Please don’t forget to visit the other WiHM 12 projects taking place!

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