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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


by Asena Lourenco

Single blossoms bloomed into majestic bouquets,

The vibrant pigments clearly the star of the day,

Ribbons danced in the breeze while fingers stay gripped,

Around the rare beauty’s green but narrow hips,

But alas, this odd bunch was no longer clutched,

By a pair of manicured hands that were in no rush,

The sun waved goodnight as it retired to its bed,

Moon returning to the sky to shine its light instead,

Through the change of scenery, something remained,

Wilting petals scattered, battered by the rain,

The one that couldn’t hold them on their special day,

Decided to rejoin her love that so tragically slipped away. 

Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of


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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Soul of Gold 
by Alex Grehy

“Grandpa had a soul of gold,

Would you like to see?”


“No, no it’s fine.” I quickly replied,

and sipped my cup of tea.


Why did I come to grandma’s house?

She’s so old and smells of wee.


“I insist, my dear!” She grabs my hand,

pulls me close, will not let me be.


My dad always said she was strange,

maybe a witch, I have to agree.


She drags me to grandpa’s casket,

holds me tight, turns the key.


How can grandma be this strong?

She’s only five foot three!


“Your father was kind, nice; your

mother was too, their souls were of ebony.”


Grandpa’s casket is open; grandma looks weird

in the golden glow. I try to break free.


“Ebon souls rich in goodness, a fat marrow feast,

to nourish your grandpa’s immortality.”


She puts my hand in the casket, thumbs the veins

in my writs, she cuts deep, makes me bleed.


“Grandpa’s starving, I’m sure you won’t mind,

after all, you’re a good boy and he is family.”

Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of


More from author Alex Grehy:


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 Kendra Hale @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Sending Out An S.O.S. 
by Kendra Hale

The bottle always washed ashore. Alex had spent so much time alone, abandoned, on this isle. She had lost track of the days, then the months. Every day had slowly become a run on into the next, a blur that saw little change.   So the case became the same with these bottles. The ones that always held the same seal, the same writing, the same message.

“I’m Coming For You.”

Since she had been left for dead on this island, Alex had adapted and staved off death. Six messages had been received in that time. Alex had taken each with a grain of salt as no one ever showed. She had spent days scouring the island for any sign of other humans, even a presence.

Creatures  of colors that animators only dreamed of bringing to the masses. But the only signs of human life were the ships and planes below the water’s surface, remnants of days when these mighty crafts were the pride of their captain or pilot’s eyes. Now they lay weathered and worn, covered in coral, claimed by the sea.

Alex guessed that to be a new home for the various sea life couldn’t be that sad of a fate. But any human life other than her was long gone.

Still the messages came. Alex struggled to not build hope that someone was not only aware of where she was, but was coming to save her. Could she really believe and give credence to the rising hopes of rescue?

Days stretched on into weeks and one after another, two more bottles appeared. Each sealed with the same care Alex had grown used to. But while one message was the same she had gotten time and time before… the second bottle held a new message.

“I’m near.”

The days became easier to take. Watching the horizon for any sign of rescue. Each day nothing happened. The days merged together so painfully slow.

On a night where Alex found herself talking to the Moon, a glittering light gleamed against the rocks. A bottle! As she opened the bottle to read the note, it was as if a shadow crossed over the Moon and the smell of smoke clung to the breeze.

A moment of joy hit her as Alex read the words.

“I’m Here.”

That joy twisted to confusion as Alex watched her world rotate. As her head made an impossible twist, she was looking behind her at a dark man, in his hand an ax…blood?

A chill hit her and suddenly she was looking at the Moon through a haze of water. As her vision began to pinhole and the darkness crept further in, she realized that she too had been claimed by the sea…her skull would house the fishes now.

Fiction © Copyright Kendra Hale
Image courtesy of


More from author Kendra Hale:


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 Elizabeth H. Smith @bethsmithwrites @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

by Elizabeth H. Smith

I searched through photos of the long-gone, their faces mere memories of the past. Nimble fingers picked at random, only to put them back. Always a tough choice—so many options. My mind couldn’t decide what it was in the mood for that night. Then, one stood out among the countless dead. His eyes spoke to mine without words. I wondered what his life might have been like. Had he fought in a war? Was his essence hardened by blood and trauma? One could never know for sure, but sometimes you had to take a chance. I took the picture and handed it to the salesman. He grinned and laid it on the counter behind him. With the ring of a bell, my order had been placed. My mouth watered with anticipation. Moments later, my purchase was carried out on a platter. The gelatinous remnants of a life awaited my ravenous tongue. Neither Heaven nor Hell could accept these lost souls, so into our bellies they went.


More About Elizabeth H. Smith:
Elizabeth H. Smith is a storyteller who writes while trying to keep her cat, Luna off the keyboard. The musical group, Rasputina is her muse. She was born in the state of New York and would never feel at home anywhere else.


Through Clouded Eyes: A Zombie’s Point of View

Through Clouded Eyes: A Zombie’s Point of View: a collection of twelve stories told from the Zombie’s perspective.

They’re shambling toward you, feet dragging on the broken roadway. Arms outstretched, faces slack, they move as if they’re tracking your scent on the wind. You want to run, but you know there’s nowhere to hide.

Aware of their insatiable hunger, fear paralyzes you. These things were once human, people someone loved. Is there anything left inside them – some sliver of humanity that may save you from this nightmare? Your mind doesn’t want to accept the inevitable, a single thought consumes you: what are they thinking?

With your chance of escape dwindling, you snap out of it and run like hell knowing there is little to no hope; fate is coming for you. Soon you will see what they see Through Clouded Eyes…

Featuring stories from Maynard Blackoak, Calvin Demmer, Paul M. Feeney, Stacy Fileccia, Trevor Firetog, DH Hanni, Shannon Lawrence, Josh MacLeod, Zachary O’Shea, Neal Privett, Mark Steinwachs, and Alex Woolf

Available on Amazon!


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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Nina D’Arcangela @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Coming of Age
by Nina D’Arcangela

It was meant to be a special day, her day; her quinceañera. The day a child became a woman at the tender age of fifteen. The church festooned with every shade of pink flower imaginable, the hall draped in bubblegum taffeta; the cake—strawberries and crème. Her friends gathered to celebrate her coming of age, to wish her well, usher her into the next chapter of life. No expense spared; no detail left to chance. But first, the mass. The blessing of His holy grace upon their daughter’s garishly tiaraed head. The priest turned to the assembly, spoke a few words, then began the lord’s prayer. A stutter brought confused silence; he cleared his throat and apologized for the unfortunate interruption. In unison, they began again. Tears streamed from the officiant’s eyes.  His voice choked on the words as his breath rasped thin. A blessing it would be, but not one the family sought. With rapturous refrain, the first horn blew. As the echo died, a small word resounded, “Daddy?”

The second horn shattered the pregnant silence. The doors baring the narthex flew open, a violent wind roared through the cathedral. As he reached for his daughter, su hermosa hija, an unseen wraith flung him through the air; his spine shattered on the marble column six pews behind. Attendants and attendees began to wail in chorus as they rushed the aisles. The discord unrelenting, one voice rang out above the others. She screamed a petulant tone, “Daddy!”

The third horn sounded, the priest dove behind the altar, landing hard in the apse; his attempt a shame upon his soul. All covered their ears as the building groaned. A clawed hand rent the roof from the basilica; angelic light spilled through the opening. Again, stunned silence descended. Harsh, guttural breathing could be heard from above as a maelstrom of heat washed over the assembly. It reached in gently, as though arranging a dollhouse, and flicked the others away with a filth ridden talon. Its hand closed upon the child-woman as she shrieked a final time to ears that could no longer hear. The seraph sniffed her hair, her neck; her groin. The child was despoiled, and of no use; it would have to wait for another. As its hand opened, the girl fell to the concrete slab abutting the portico. Her bouquet of flowers rolled to a stop upon the steps she had so arrogantly ascended less than an hour before, its ribbon fluttering in the quiet left behind.


More from Nina D’Arcangela:


A dank basement, shadow filled hallways, the deep echo of a metal latch being thrown while faint screams are heard… These are the things you might experience in a place where the unspeakable happens, where conscientious action and moral turpitude turn a blind eye in the interest of advancing one’s own personal pursuits in the most deranged and unjustifiable manner. The type of place where power corrupts, and depravity runs rampant among those imbued with it. A place where the unfortunate are abandoned to the devices of those who convince themselves their actions are in the best interest of science.

Mental Ward: Experiments is a collection of ten short stories that demonstrate the worst of humanity’s ambition in the interest of ‘civilized’ advancement. Step into a world where sanity is left behind, and horror is what the doctor ordered!

Available on Amazon!


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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alina Măciucă @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_02I Summoned Them
by Alina Măciucă

I drank the light flooding out of the chest,

And gobbled up sapphires, rubies, and emeralds.

They shattered my teeth, and pierced my gums,

I swallowed them whole.


“You shall unearth great treasures,” they said

Upon conjuration. Gleaming, slippery spirits

Expanding and contracting like micro-universes

In and out of the triangle.


I settled into the chest, made myself comfortable.

Light caressed my flesh – warm, delicate, and tender.

It shattered my bones, and pierced my muscles,

And then it drank me.


“You will carry the treasures of the earth within”,

They said before they twirled back into the void.

Contemptuous, whimsical spirits, waiting to unfold

And usurp worlds.

Fiction © Copyright Alina Măciucă
Image courtesy of  Pixabay.comline_separator2

More about Alina Măciucă:

meblurAlina Măciucă enjoys reading, writing, buying odd trinkets, and taking photos of beautifully decaying buildings. She has formally studied religion and hermeneutics at the University of Bucharest, and really has a thing for the Greco-Roman mysteries and Gnosticism, as well as for Renaissance magic. She lives in Bucharest with her very supportive boyfriend, their two cats, and an ever-expanding vinyl and book collection.



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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!

Last Dead Soldier 
by Marge Simon

To who finds this letter:

We talked about the good things tonight.  It’s Anna’s need, not mine. Mama pounds on our door, but Anna says we can’t let her in, now that she’s one of them. Mama went out for food. She was out there all last night. We saw her through the window this morning, there’s blood on her hands and mouth. Dad’s gone we don’t know where. Maybe he’ll be home tomorrow but Anna doesn’t think so. Me either. I write this all down like Anna says to and I will put it in Dad’s last Vodka bottle. He calls the empty bottles Dead Soldiers. I wonder why. Anyways, we’ll sneak out tomorrow morning and take it to the great river that flows into the Gulf. She says to put Mississippi River so you know where we are. Its 205 N.  Burton, Perryville, Miss.  If you find this please come and bring food. I am older than Anna. I think it doesn’t matter what I put for where we are, but it’s for Anna I do this.

P.S. Things are getting really bad. It was so dark last night, we couldn’t see the moon. I wonder if there is a moon in the sky anymore.

Yours Truly,

Calvin Hogsted + Anna Hogsted

Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of 


More from Marge Simon:


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 Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Memory Box
by Suzanne Madron

“What is all this stuff?” Randolph looked over the piles of photos and shook his head. He leafed through a box of old photos that ranged from what he guessed to be the origins of photography all the way to what he assumed to be the sixties. His brow furrowed as he uncovered a photo and recognized his own face. He opened his mouth to call out when a creaking noise drew his attention toward the doorway.

An ancient woman leaned over a walker. She smiled at him, her eyes far more alert than her body would have hinted. “Thank you again for helping me,” she told him. “I would never have been able to clean this old place out all by myself.”

“No problem, Aunt Lydia.” Randolph motioned to the boxes of photographs. “Who are all those people in the photos? And why am I in here?”

The old woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Old friends, lovers, people lost to time. And you,” she looked at the photo in his hand. “Your mother sent that to me when you went away to college. You were always my favorite.”  She waved an arthritic hand. “I made you some of that tea you like.”

“Any cookies?”

“Always. In fact, I made your favorite.” The old woman smiled crookedly and hobbled out of the room. The squeaking joints of her walker followed her along the squeaking floorboards to the kitchen.

She wasn’t really his aunt. She had always been the neighborhood old lady, making cookies for all the kids and giving out the best candy at Halloween. When she contacted him as an adult to help her clear out her house, he had been surprised and expected that other kids he had grown up with would be there as well.

He entered the sunny kitchen and inhaled the scent of earl grey tea and fresh-baked cookies. Lydia placed a plate of cookies and a cup of tea in front of a chair and motioned for him to sit.

“Thanks, Aunt Lydia.”

She took the seat across from him with her own cup of tea held in trembling hands. As Randolph ate, he was reminded of the many happy times he had spent in the kitchen helping the woman bake cookies, or doing odd jobs around the house. She had told him he was her favorite.

“Are you moving out?” He asked between bites of cookie.

Lydia considered his words. “In a way, I suppose I am.”

The smile faded from his lips as the old woman twisted her neck to the right as if stretching out a kink and the bones bulged against the parchment skin. Her smile was more than lopsided now, it was running down her drooping face.

“Aunt Lydia, are you ok?”

He was up and moving around the table, terrified she was having a stroke. He failed to notice the way her skin had begun to run off her body, pooling around her feet like an old pair of pantyhose. In moments, something that was not the woman he remembered was standing up from the table, its bare head brushing the molded tin ceiling.

As he screamed, it flowed into his gaping mouth. For several long seconds, he felt his body reshaping itself to accommodate its new occupant, and then there was only black.

When the transition was complete, the creature formerly known as Aunt Lydia hung up the saggy skin suit in a cedar closet in the attic next to all the others. They were in various states of deterioration, all moisture leeched from them long ago. It carefully placed the photo of Randolph back into the box with all the other photos it had collected from its victims over the years, then closed the door.

Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of


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 Michelle Joy Gallagher @Aphelia @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Passage of Time
by Michelle Joy Gallagher

Lauren had always pictured death as the complete absence of light. Not dark, in the way that we know it. Our “dark” is always polluted by light to varying degrees. Death, Lauren felt, must have been an oubliette of complete darkness for eternity. The reality was far more strange and cruel.
Lauren had been forgotten. She died young. Light bursting behind her eyes in a brilliant supernova when her artery gave way, blood rushing into her skull, crushing the places in her brain that urged her heart to beat, her lungs to inflate. She was buried by her husband, in a plot meant for her mother.  He hadn’t the heart to visit her grave after the new year. After he’d met Violet all the flowers had been for her.
Life flooded around the gap she had left, and in the vast expanse of time and space, incredible unknown epochs slowly unraveling. There was no one left that could recall her face.
The passage of time came down to the forgetting and the forgotten. From the atomic level, life was full of a myriad of experiences. Collisions that dug holes in the fabric of space or encouraged a new manner of being. Entropy was the process of slowly forgetting those experiences.  Decay was only a stop along the way.
She’d had form once. Was made of matter. Was comprised of iron and calcium, carbon, and water. The rushing of water. If she had only a second to describe her human existence it would have been with the sound of water. But she had been forgotten and there was no one to tell this to. No mouth to tell it with.
Non existence should have been freeing. But she had remembered.
Fiction © Copyright Michelle Joy Gallagher
Image courtesy of


More from author Michelle Joy Gallagher:
Welcome to Blackhawk, Colorado. Blackhawk has always been strange. Natural disasters. Disappearances. Murders. High strangeness is a part of daily life. We can’t hope to explain it, but we can chronicle its past. Learn from it. Fear it. Blackhawk is an experimental fiction series set in a shared universe, written by a variety of talented authors. It is the brainchild of David M Brown (Plague Doctor, Modern Animals) and Carl D Smith (Moleb the Giant, Darkness Out of Carthage). Each story will contribute to an organic, evolving mythology as diverse as the voices behind its tales. For fans of True Detective, Lost Highway, Twilight Zone, and The Terror. This is Volume Two of the series and contains five stories by five different authors, each in tune with the specific strangeness Blackhawk has to offer. NOTE: For fans of Lake Lord Publishing’s prior horror titles, be warned that Blackhawk will contain content that is perhaps more disturbing and mature.

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!


Midnight Wishes
by Angela Yuriko Smith

Smallish Child, come here

and see the magic I hide.

Adventures await!


No musty, dark trunk

full of smother and last gasp

am I… Smallish Child.


Trust in my thick dust.

In me are answers you seek

in secrets I keep.


I know your wishes.

Here, I have a gift for you

nestled with spiders.


He’s been waiting here—

hide and seeking turned weeping. 

But midnight wishes


always get granted—

your brother, finally returned!

Smallish Child, come here.


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 to submit.

Catch up with Angela here!


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