‘Places of Poetry’ release today. Collection by #author and #poet A.F. Stewart @scribe77

Places of Poetry

A.F. StewartPlaces_of_Poetry


With words and emotions, footsteps
echo down the road…

Places of Poetry
Come travel on a poetic journey, to cities and the heartland, across the sea and to the stars. Find wonders in the shadows and strange things to haunt your dreams. Stare at the moon or wander through memories.

Come laugh, come reminisce, come reflect.

Find your place in poetry.

Released today! Click here to find it!!

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‘Hell’s Empire: Tales of the Incursion’

Hell’s Empire: Tales of the Incursion


Hell would have its Empire….

A unique anthology of two thrones at war as the forces of Hell assault an unsuspecting
Victorian Britain.

The cry went out to theologians and engineers, to artificers and antiquarians, to every name which could be named. By telegraph where lines were still intact, and by volunteer riders where they were not; smuggled along the coast in fishing smacks, semaphored from hill-tops. It came without royal sanction, issued jointly by the Lords of the Admiralty and Marquess Lansdowne, the new Secretary of State for War: “In God’s name, help us. We are losing.”


Prologue Excerpt:

 It began as “certain curious events”. A mention in a local newspaper; a wry comment in one of the national organs; a letter to the editor of a hobbyist magazine. Shadows and lights, inexplicable scratchings at the door – neither certain nor concrete. And it might have continued as such for months, remarked on by country vicars in their sermons, perhaps investigated with enthusiasm by the type of amateur sleuth who loves a good mystery. Nothing to bother the engines of Empire.

But it did not stay that way. We were not allowed months. From the first mention of a sickly light upon the heath to the first clawed-open corpse was a matter of weeks. Faces which could not be faces were seen in the alleyways, and mediums broke from reporting Great Aunt Mary’s comfort in Heaven to stare and scream.

Something was very wrong.

Stories included in this anthology:
‘The Battle of Alma’, Matthew Willis
‘Hell at the Empire’, Marion Pitman
‘The Mighty Mastiff’, Rose Baxter
‘The Sea Wall’, Ian Steadman
‘The Singing Stones’, Charlotte Bond
‘The Nowl of Tubal-Qayin’, Phil Breach
‘Forge’, Shell Bromley
‘Ad Majorem Satanae Gloriam’, Damascus Mincemeyer
‘Infernal Patrol’, A.F. Stewart
‘Yan Tan Tethera’, J.A. Ironside
‘Reinforcements’, Frank Coffman
‘The Charge of the Wight Brigade’, Phil Breach
‘Profaned by Feelings Dark’, Jack Deel
‘We’ve Always Lived in a Colony’, S.L. Edwards
‘The Ones That Were Left Behind’, Martin J. Gilbert
‘A Swig in Hell’, Charles R. Rutledge
Edited by John Linwood Grant


Available Now – click here!



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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!

by Asena Lourenco

Leather longingly waiting for repair
While hearing footsteps from the stair
A single tear runs down the seat
As the chair surrenders in defeat
Crackling cackles can be heard from far away
But none of their screeches are here to stay
Floorboards groan underneath where I stood
The tang of ancient, abandoned wood.
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com


More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 12 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 Sheri White @sheriw1965 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

by Sheri White

Danny and Chrissy made sure nobody was around to catch them entering the crumbling abandoned asylum. After several years of destination exploring, they had finally made it to one of their bucket list items – The Eyler-Vann Institute of Learning, a teaching hospital for doctors treating the criminally insane and supposedly the most haunted asylum on the East Coast.
Satisfied they were alone, they walked through high grass to the front entrance. The double doors opened easily; it looked like the lock had broken for years.
Glass from shattered windows littered the dirty tiled floor. Graffiti and crude drawings covered the curved counter that once served as the receptionist’s desk. The receiver from an old push-button business phone dangled from the edge.
Chrissy picked it up. “Hello? Yes, you have reached the looney bin. How may I help you?”
They both laughed. Danny snapped a few pictures of her silliness. “You just need glasses and your hair in a tight bun. Come on, let’s look around.”
The first floor mostly consisted of services for the patients—cafeteria, TV and game room, and a barber shop, as well as the employee lounge and cafeteria. Danny and Chrissy looked in all the rooms, taking pictures of things they found interesting: broken dishes, a drawer of rusty utensils, the stainless steel fridge in the kitchen (“Hey wouldn’t it be wild if we found a human head in there?”), a broken TV with bent antennas, checker pieces, and other detritus from an earlier time.
They found the barber shop after deciding not to open the refrigerator. (“Chicken!” “Yeah, so are you!”)
Chrissy hesitated in the doorway, looking at the barber chair in the middle of the room. “This room is creepy, Danny. I don’t like it. Let’s check out another floor.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Danny took a picture with his flash, illuminating the dark room. Chrissy gasped.
“Did you see that?”
“No, what?”
“I saw a couple of people in the room. One was in the chair.”
Danny laughed and let go of the camera hanging from a strap. He put his hands together in the air, then brought them down. “Imaginaaaationnnnn,” he said in a Spongebob voice.
Chrissy rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
They headed for the stairs, but Chrissy turned around to look at the room again. She saw a flicker of something. She blinked and that’s when she saw the figure in the chair again—but this time there was someone behind him. Then they were gone.
The second floor held many bedrooms, and remnants of lives lived there were left behind—rusted metal cots, thin moldy mattresses, torn pictures. Danny snapped pictures of almost every room, finding little details that pleased him enough to capture them on film.
Chrissy kept back, out of the rooms, just following Danny around. She took no pictures and didn’t talk much.
Danny finally noticed Chrissy wasn’t her usual self. “Hey, what’s up? We’ve been waiting years for this, and you’re acting like you don’t want to be here.”
“I don’t. There is something wrong here, and I want to leave.”
“Are you still freaked out about what you thought you saw? I mean, this place is definitely creepy, but you usually love creepy.”
“Yeah, creepy I like. But I’m scared right now. I know you’re going to laugh at me, but I think this place is really haunted.”
“I won’t laugh, but seriously? Haunted? You’ve never thought that with any other place.”
“Which is why you should believe me. Look, we read about this place and the awful things that happened to the inmates. The shock treatments, ice baths, experimental drugs. Then some of them finally fought back, which is why it closed. I mean, true evil did happen here; it was all documented. Evil lingers.”
“We can start heading back, but I’m not rushing out of here. I’ve never photographed in such a cool place before. We got lucky getting in today; I don’t want to waste this opportunity.”
Chrissy sighed. “Fiiiiinnnne.”
“I could’ve sworn the stairs were over here,” Danny said.
“Maybe you got turned around in the dark.”
“It’s not that dark; there’s still sunlight coming through the windows.” He shined his flashlight around the corridor. “Well, let’s go back that way.”
Finally, they found a door to the stairwell. As they walked down the stairs, the window they passed showed they were over the front entrance.
“I guess it’s a different stairway,” said Danny. “This should take us right into the lobby by the front doors.”
“There was only one stairwell on that floor, and it wasn’t over the front entrance, Danny. This isn’t right.”
“Seriously, Chrissy—your imagination is running wild.”
But when they reached the bottom and opened the door, they were in the barber shop.
“What the hell?”
“I told you! I told you something was wrong here, Danny!”
“This is crazy.” Danny shined his light around the room, the barber chair still in the middle of the room. “Come on, let’s go back upstairs and find the other stairs.”
They ran up the stairs and opened the door, only to find themselves back in the barber shop.
The old light hanging above the chair flickered, although there was no electricity in the building. The figures Chrissy had seen earlier appeared in the strobe effect.
A man sat in the chair, tied by his wrists to it so he couldn’t move. His head was held back by another man standing behind him, wearing white pajama-like clothes covered with blood. The light flashed faster, illuminating the blood spatters on the walls and floors.
The blood-covered man held a straight-razor in his hand, ready to slash the throat of his victim. Chrissy screamed, and reached for Danny. “We need to run!”
He was gone.
“Danny, where are you?” She looked around for him, getting light-headed from the flickering light. She turned to run for the stairs when she heard him scream.
She had her hand on the door. She didn’t want to turn back. She didn’t want to see. But she had to.
Danny was now in the chair, his head held back by one hand, a straight razor at his throat in the killer’s other hand. He screamed again, but only for a second before the razor whipped across his neck, sending a fountain of blood into the air.
Chrissy shrieked. The killer looked at her and shrieked back, his mouth impossibly wide. He let go of Danny, letting him slide onto the floor. “HERE I COME, READY OR NOT!” he screamed, waving the dripping razor above his head.
She ran up the stairs, bursting out of the door. This time she was back in the corridor. She bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath when she heard the killer laugh and scream. Terrified he was in the stairwell, Chrissy tore down the hall. Every door to every room was closed now. From the corners of her eyes, she could see screaming, dead, bloody faces in the door windows.
She could see a door at the end of the hallway. The faster she ran, the further away it got. Screams and laughter throughout the entire floor filled her ears. “HERE I COME, HERE I COME!”
“No, please! Let me go!” Chrissy looked behind her. The killer stood at the end of the hallway by the stairwell door, his grin a demented rictus. “Oh, god!”
“NO GOD! NO GOD!” The killer giggled.
Chrissy wanted to believe he was a ghost and couldn’t hurt her, but she knew he could. She saw what happened to Danny. She turned away from the maniac, hoping this door would lead her outside to safety.
It was gone.
She heard slow steps approaching her. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, knowing her fate. She shivered at a whisper of breath on her neck.
“Here I am.”
Fiction © Copyright Sheri White
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com


More from Author Sheri White:

When the Clock Strikes 13

Tick – tock
Tick – tock
Tick – tock
Your time is running out. When the clock strikes 13, all manners of hell will break loose.
When the Clock Strikes 13 is a collection of thirteen short horror stories by some of the best horror and dark fiction authors writing today. Inside, you will find stories to frighten, shock and gnaw at your inner fears, and take you places that belong only in the dark recesses of your mind. There are monsters on these pages; some are human, some are not.

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!

Lilly, Unfinished
by Elizabeth H. Smith

Lilly couldn’t permit his breath another deceit, another whisper of bent perspective. In error, Marcus tread beneath the lines, the reverse where rule had no application. Once read, died lonely, meaning gone. Only his voice had spoken clear.
Despair fled down her cheek. Red hands didn’t bother wipe it away.
His gesture of life to mark the spaces festered with his stiffened frame. His stain upon the floor would ever haunt the room. His deviation couldn’t be undone. Neither could hers. Resolved to nature, vicious and raw, the need satisfied the conclusion.
She wished with dreams the pages back, Marcus telling the story that would never be finished. But in her wispy conjuring his face distorted, split, shattered—vision of something long-dead.
Lilly closed the book with crimson marks, allowed its scent one last memory. The tale untold, she walked with dread pace, and left Marcus to death’s long and giving tender.
Fiction © Copyright Elizabeth H. Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 


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 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Open Wide
by Nina D’Arcangela

The light strobes, flaring at me.
The heat from the bulb dries the sweat on my face.
My eyes slam shut; they open to rivulets of blood running down my thighs.
She screams for me to turn back to the camera; the spittle-soaked gag abrades my cheek as I turn.
Again, the involuntary blink and jerk as my bindings tighten; this enrages her.
Soothing darkness falls; I feel her moving within the shadows. The dog whip sounds its crack just beyond my right ear. Her intent to miss, I’m certain. Crack again, this time it strikes my bare shoulder. Another and the shreds of my bra fall away; bare breast exposed. The blackness so acute, I can hear her draw back for another strike. I scream through the gag. This pleases her; she returns to the camera.
I jerk so hard the chair wobbles; blonde stands fall forward to block my vision.
Crying hysterically, I scream and beg through the fabric tearing the corners of my mouth. I hear her mild sigh.
Closer, hotter, brighter. My desperate pleas are met with silence. I can feel her standing over me; I will not open my eyes.
As the bloom fades through my lids, my chair back makes contact with the floor. Tears still streaming, I can no longer form coherent sentences. One word is left to me – a stuttering please. She leans over, strokes my face, calms my shattered nerves. She strokes again, I relax a bit more. She hushes me as the final stroke opens my jugular. I feel warmth; I see the flash as my eyes open wide.
Fiction © Copyright Nina D’Arcangela
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela 


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 Lori R. Lopez @LoriRLopez @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #poem #poetry

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

In Pieces
by Lori R. Lopez

That chair will be my death.
Worn, rather ordinary to look at. Except
the base, designed to raise and lower,
cant to a more comfortable angle —
or incline so sharp it makes the blood surge
to your head! They’ve got me in it now,
angled at a steep tilt, feet high,
a number of broad firm straps holding,
binding me in place, doing no favors.
A captive, exposed to their incessant curiosities
as they tinker and forage, invade my
body like a Toolbox or Treasure Chest
instead of a torso with delicate parts, my insides
at their disposal. What will they pluck out next
in this wretched game of Operation
to see what makes me tick, what might be
expendable and what I can’t function without?
They snip another valuable part, the loss
unbearable, yet still I exist.
My makers constructed me well.
Only to be picked apart by these devils,
these savage foreign scavengers who
chop and yank and rummage through my
guts and bolts like Buzzard-Men.
I am legally alive, with rights and needs.
This is torture, a prolonged form of killing.
A tedious, vile, uncouth brand of espionage.
Sadistic, they relish inflicting pain, testing my
resistance. Roughly removing, studying the pieces
of my anatomy bit by bit, one component at a time
in a treacherous Exam Room . . . Endeavoring
to “break” me, force my android will and
human-like sentiments to yield, submit. All the while
seeking to unlock, decipher, drain my data-banks;
plunder my secrets, the precious and vital knowledge
stored and sealed in an impregnable Memory Vault.
I am the best, the latest in state-of-the-art technology.
And their type, their wicked heartless souls
will stop at nothing! Yet they could never succeed
at gaining the contents, cracking the codes.
For that is my purpose in life. I am legendary,
the ultimate level of security and efficiency.
And then, under it all, behind the barriers to
infiltration, decryption — lies a fail-safe
final resource: the device that would detonate
and melt them, delete their lab,
the fruits of their research. Any trace of me
stripped loose, dissected. The grounds
contaminated, unapproachable for many ages.
Missiles would be triggered to launch,
annihilate key targets, begin and end a war
in one drastic decisive instant. Total retaliation.
Leaving towns and citadels, their elite
corporate ruling-class towers in pieces too.
Fighting inhumanity with the same unkindness.
I am not programmed to bargain or beg,
much less permitted to warn them. Taking me
was the first mistake; tormenting me in this
ugly, closed, off-the-map facility will be their last.
A faint smile twitches the rim of my mouth.
Fiction © Copyright Lori R. Lopez
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com


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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