Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Mary Ann Peden-Coviello @MAPedenCoviello @darc_nina #LoH

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_03_Aug2021

Like a Lamb
by Mary Ann Peden-Coviello

Their song awakens me in the middle of the night, calling me to them. I slip from my warm bed and creep out of the house. I leave my mother and father, my two sisters and my baby brother all asleep. I wonder for a moment that none of them have wakened to the singing, not even our dog. Only me. But then the song tugs at my heart again, and I close the door and turn toward the Hill. 
Silence rules this night. No insect whirs. No hunter bruises a leaf beneath a stealthy paw. The song fills my ears with its insistent call. My bare feet whisper through the grass. I don’t notice how cold the damp blades feel against the soles of my feet. All my attention is on the song.
The path takes a steeper turn as it leads up the Hill. I stumble a time or two over rocks or tree roots I cannot see in the moonlight. At last, I reach the summit, with its crown of stacked boulders. The singing deafens me now, so loud it fills the whole world. 
The white-clad singers slip out from behind the boulders, from behind the altar. They seize me and lay me atop the cold slab of stone. I am the Honored One, the Gift for the Harvest. If I feel any fear, the song eases it. 
I almost don’t even feel the knives. 
***
In the morning, every mother, every father looked –hearts in their mouths – to see if their daughters were safe in their beds. In every house but one, joy reigned. Those girls had been passed over for another year.
In one, however, wails of grief were stifled. One daughter, loved by her family, had been seduced away in the night to be Honored as a Lamb.
Fiction © Copyright Mary Ann Peden-Coviello
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Mary Ann Peden-Coviello:

maryannpedencoviello_frightmareFright Mare-Women Write Horror
Short Story: One Hour Before the Dark

Women write horror and have written it since before Mary Shelley wrote FRANKENSTEIN. This anthology is to highlight the fact women write great horror and to kill the fallacy that they aren’t in some way up to standard. They are. Read here stories by Elizabeth Massie, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Lucy Taylor, and a plethora of other great writers as they work on your nerves, get inside your head, and bang out some of the scariest tales written today. I’m proud to present these women for your consideration, as Rod Serling might say, as I ask you to step into FRIGHT MARE. Lock the door and windows, put on a light, and remember, it’s not real. It’s not real. Midnight awaits, monsters scheme to take you away, the strange and weird wait in the shadows, but it’s not real. Is it?

Edited by Billie Sue Mosiman, the author who brought you the SINISTER-TALES OF DREAD collections and her latest suspense novel, THE GREY MATTER.

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!

Image_01_Aug2021

A Fun Guy
by Angela Yuriko Smith

“A fun guy,” he said.
“All about the party games.”
So I went with him.
I love playing games
I thought. Now hide-and-go-seek
keeps me laying here
bored to mossy tears
my only companions now
earthworms and fungi
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 Christina Sng @ChristinaSng @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Image_04_Aug2021Three Candles
by Christina Sng

I light three candles
To tell them
Not to come back,
That our city is overrun
And there is no hope
For us left behind.
We huddle on the rooftop
In the abyssal darkness
Waiting for death, hoping
The cold will take us
Gently into the eternal sleep
Before our enemies breach
The steel access door
And tear us from limb to limb,
Eating us alive.
The fires they set
Create a thick haze
Across the sky,
Pressing the winter frost
Down onto us. The deep
And debilitating chill
Permeates all
Of our hiding places,
Driving us to the warmth
Of the buildings,
Straight into their bloody arms
Where we will be devoured
Or worse,
Turned into one of them
And sent out into the world
To eat the people we love
Gladly—
And without remorse
Because
We will no longer be
Capable of love.
They will come if we ask;
They, who got out
During the evacuation.
They, who now watch
The street cams for our signal:
The lit candles.
They will come for us
Because they love us
And they will gladly die trying.
With our enemy’s tentacles
All over this city,
They will not make it.
Three candles means
There is no saving us.
It means:
There is no hope.
Do not come—
It is over for us.
We hold each other
And wait for the sunrise,
For the bombs to arrive.
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 Alyson Faye @AlysonFaye2 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Image_03_Aug2021
Beneath
by Alyson Faye

The local children swarmed like flies over the giant rocks, calling out to each other, giddy on fizzy drinks and fresh air, the older ones sneaking fags behind the raised claw-like rocks. In the rock’s hollows nestled coke cans, scraps of paper, feathers, and tab ends.
‘I see a baby whale. Just there on the bottom left hand side,’ shouted one child to his mum, who barely glanced up from her phone.
‘Nah, it’s an alien planet and we’re the invading soldiers,’ cried her brother, armed with his bright orange Nerf gun.
A hiking couple paused, gazed up at the late dusk ombre sky, and commented on how the piled up rocks resembled a giant playing a game of prehistoric Jenga.
Another child clung to the thumb of the mittened fist rock shape, swinging out over the moor, shouting, ‘I’m Tarzan!’  His scraped knees bled a sprinkling of droplets onto the moss and was soon absorbed.
When night fell, all the human traffic vanished, leaving the rocks alone with the stars and its memories. The moss buzzed with life, the insects scurried and burrowed and beneath the ground the monster slept, as it had for hundreds of years.
Most of its carcass was hidden in the caves below, only its furthest extremities were on display up above. Only the tips of its tail, and its rock-like scales protruded.
As the behemoth slept it dreamed of minute insects making high-pitched sounds, scrabbling over its hard-plated body, irritating and bothersome, but not worth waking up for. Occasionally in its sleep the creature would shift and above ground a corresponding crack fractured the rocks. Blood split above fed its carcass, soothing it.
Once it had been hungry and consumed everything in its path, but the spell placed upon it kept it somnolent. The Ancients had plied their magicke well, with skill.
Inside its heart an ancient strand of code lay dormant, waiting for the day it would spark to life and erupt, tearing apart the world above.
Fiction © Copyright Alyson Faye
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Alyson Faye:

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The Lost Girl & Spindleshanks

The Lost Girl
A nailed-up door. An inheritance which comes with a ghost. A missing girl. A fifty-year-old mystery. Parapsychologist Berkley Osgood is hired to investigate. What he uncovers reveals secrets the living want to hide and the dead will never forgive.

Spindleshanks
Adam is having nightmares about a skeletal shadow figure, who he calls Spindleshanks. Soon his whole class are sharing the same nightmare. Adam’s dad, Rob, knows that Spindleshanks can’t be real. But is he? One terrible night Rob has to face his son’s nightmare creature and fight for his son’s life. What would you sacrifice to have your child back safe?

“A decent two-for-one. Alyson Faye brings the engaging and eerie in equal measure.” CC Adams – horror / dark fiction author

Available on Amazon!

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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!

Image_02_Aug2021

Tock Tock Tock
by Alex Grehy

William the watchmaker, divorced four times, never understood the human mind. “Too messy!” he thought as his wives broke free. All he wanted was a tock to his tick and, living alone, it could never be.
Tick..Tick..Tick..Tick
He decided to make a new wife. Clockwork, of course, over which he had complete mastery. A cunning escapement would keep her in check. He’d manufacture a mate who’d look good, never argue, meet his wants utterly.
Tick..Tock – Tick..Tock
His first was a mimic who followed him accurately. It was fun for a while, then it was tedious, then one day he thought “She’s too much like me!” 
Tick….Tick, Tick…Tick
He took her back to the workshop and pulled off her head; then he hammered the rest down for parts, which he spread on his bench and started again.
His second was random, sometimes obedient, his soulmate and friend; sometimes unruly and out of control. Her arrhythmic nature he could not transcend.
Tick…Tock – Tick…Not
He beat her to teach her, but still she rebelled. He dragged her into his workshop and pulled off her head. He cast it aside and it landed, unsmiling, in the bin with the first, little guessing they still had enough life for a curse. Oblivious to her suffering, he drew out her innards and started again. 
His third was the charm. Accomplished and lovely, she tocked to his tick. But then he thought, “Did I just hear tock…tick?”
Tick…Tock – Tock…Tick
He grabbed her hand roughly and pulled her towards him, intending, as always, to fix her up good. A tap with a hammer should align her skewed gears. But she pulled him back sharply and hissed in his ears “Dear husband, I cannot abide your dominion, it’s your turn to hurt and play the minion.”
With one hand she held him, her strength was uncanny. She climbed up the tower and lofted him high, snagging his collar on clock’s hour hand. His heart raced as he wriggled, but time would not free him, not quite yet. 
TOCK…tick, tick, tick
She gathered her sisters, their beautiful faces now bright with malice, their eyes filled with avenging tears. She set them down gently and said “Watch! Now he’ll find out what it’s like to be driven by another’s clockwork desires.”
TOCK…TOCK…TOCK – tick, tick, tick
Upright at midnight he felt very secure, but he started to dangle as the hours passed by. At three he was swaying from the tip of the hand; at six, he would slip and would fall to his doom. His wives’ laughter chimed as the hour drew nigh.
Tick…tiiiiiiiiick…splatt!
TOCK…TOCK…TOCK
TOCK…TOCK…TOCK
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 Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_01_Aug2021Let’s Dance
by Elaine Pascale

Come fairies, take me from this dull world,” she recited.
Brian smiled. “You believe in sprites?”
She wasn’t sure what she believed in anymore. What she couldn’t believe was her luck. Brian had seemed to magically materialize into her life. She had only known him a few short days, but they had become inseparable, and he had all the qualities she had always desired.
“I want to believe,” she said.
“They are not as nice as you would think,” he told her as they followed the path into the woods. “They make you dance until you die.”
“You make it sound almost romantic.”
They stopped near a ring of red-topped mushrooms.
“Dancing is romantic if done properly,” he said as he pulled her close. “Let’s dance.”
She leaned against him, taking in his sweet, honey-suckle smell. He sang softly in her ear, enchanting her so that she barely noticed the sudden emptiness around them. So lulled was she by their swaying that she ignored the startling change in temperature.
When she tilted her head closer to his shoulder, she saw couples enjoying a picnic on the grass nearby. In what seemed like mere seconds, they had devoured food and bottles of wine.  She saw a game of catch played and ended in what she thought was a minute. She saw children play and frolic. While Brian sang the song over and over, those same children left and returned: older, fully grown.  
She realized that no one could see her, dancing with this miraculous man. She patted him on the shoulder, to tell him she wanted to stop. His face changed; he was miraculous in a frightening way now.
When the children returned, old, she felt a coldness run through her. She wanted to call out, to tell them she was tired. She wanted Brian to stop singing. Or, at least, sing a different song.
She knew it would never stop; she knew she had to dance.
Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pixaby.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 Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_04_Aug2021The Forest
by Kathleen McCluskey

Larry was convinced that the forest behind his house was haunted. Hearing the soft chanting night after night piqued his curiosity. He wanted to prove to everyone that the rumors and stories about the wooded darkness were all true and that he was not crazy.
He waited until almost midnight before he headed out. Above, a cloud veiled, full moon hinted of sky. The wind whipped through the geriatric oaks causing the decrepit timbers to howl and creak. Larry found a soft spot and listened to the symphony the trees created. He waited as the sound gave the night depth. Then the sound abruptly stopped. Larry sprang to his feet and could see twin silhouettes motionless in the darkness. The forest became devoid of sound, life and motion. As Larry strained to see more detail on the figures a bright light flashed from one of them, temporarily blinding him, rendering him unconscious.
He woke flat on his back; his arms out stretched to the side; he was lashed down with thick leather straps. He could hear the soft cooing of female voices. Straining to turn his head and see where the beautiful siren song was coming from he noticed the forest was illuminated by candles. He focused on the table directly to his right. Three white candles burned slowly. The flames danced playfully in the slight breeze of the forest. Larry tried to speak but his voice had been taken. Panic began to set in as he struggled against the restraints. As he thrashed the friction caused his skin to break open and bleed. He was oblivious to the pain; he just wanted out. The twins appeared, one on each side. They spoke in unison, “We do love it when they struggle. Oh how it sweetens the blood. The taste of fear is the taste of vitality.” Larry was in hysterics as they bit down onto his arms. They consumed him. Their legend would remain intact bringing more food to their table.
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 Alina Măciucă @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_03_Aug2021I Am One of the Worlds Out There
by Alina Măciucă

She gnaws on my thigh,
My blood stains her muzzle.
When she opens her mouth,
She spills out a galaxy.
The pain only comes when
The blood stops flowing,
And a rock
Grows out of my flesh.
She gnaws on my back,
My blood taints her fur.
Mother bear spins the Multiverse between her paws.
I lie sprawled, face down.
Where my tears drop,
Grass grows.
And from my crushed skull
The sky emerges red.
Fiction © Copyright Alina Măciucă
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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 Stephanie Ayers @theauthorSAM @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_02_Aug2021

The Succubus
by Stephanie Ayers

She waits until you’re sleeping
to perform her nightly chores.
She skulks in the darkest corner
Watching those she abhors.
Waiting, just waiting…
Until the dreams begin. 
It is then and only then
She’ll taunt your deepest fears
With her blood red lips, a sheer dress,
And ghostly eyes filled with tears.
Tempting, taunting…
Until you give in.
Taste the blood she offers freely
With a kiss upon her lips
Suck until every last drop is gone
And passion fills your hips.
Tasting, suckling…
Releasing the monster within.
She’ll match you thrust for thrust
And give you all she’s got
Her teeth tearing and shredding skin
A vampyre fresh from a drought.
Thrusting, shredding…
Your humanity is your only sin. 
She waits until you’re sleeping,
Until your eyes have closed
That’s when she attacks the most,
Your deepest fear exposed.
Sleeping, dreaming…
The succubus always wins.
Fiction © Copyright Stephanie Ayers
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Stephanie Ayers:

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A Sudden Flutter of Wings

Something strange is happening in Ruppert Hills, Missouri and it’s up to news reporter Kate Chisholm to get to the bottom of it.

When a body turns up in an old grain mill, something sinister begins to haunt her dreams, and no one is willing to tell her why. As her investigation leads her to the Trail of Tears and an old Indian shaman, and she mysteriously turns up pregnant, things get even stranger.

Is the baby she carries the key to the mystery shrouding Ruppert Hills or are they all doomed to the evil arising?

Available on Amazon!

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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!

Image_01_Aug2021

How About a Side of Mushroom?
by Melissa R. Mendelson

The guy at Marin’s said that they were running fifteen minutes behind.  I went to the pizzeria, thinking I gave them long enough, but another guy said that it would be a few more minutes.  I stepped away, so they could take the orders from other people standing behind me.  I glanced at the television set, but I was not interested in the ballgame.  I just wanted my pizza.
As I rested against a bench, I watched the people nearby.  They seemed like they were lost in a daze.  Maybe, it was because of what was going on around us, and they sat at tables and booths, waiting.  What was taking so long, and more people walked in.  They buzzed past my face as if I wasn’t even standing there, and they filled up the booth that I rested against.  One young girl even kicked my leg unapologetically.
“Orders up.”  Everyone jumped at the man’s call.
“It’s just pizza.”  I was pushed and shoved as if I was nothing more than an illusion, and people seemed dumbfounded at touching something solid.  “Fucking people,” but again, they acted as if I wasn’t even there.
“Your order’s up,” a guy shouted at me, but instead of a regular pizza box, he held a small, white box in his hands.
“That’s not pizza.”  I stared at the box, thinking of the brownies waiting for me back home.  “What’d you do?  Put the crust in there?”
“Just eat it.  On the house since it’s your first time.”  He put the box in my hands.  “Eat up.”  It sounded like an order.
“You know what?  No thanks.  I’ll get pizza down the street.”  I moved toward the door, but people gathered in front of it.  They still looked through me, but they were determined not to move.  “What the hell?”  I turned around, and a little girl stood behind me, holding the box in her hands.  She was the only one that actually looked at me.
“Eat,” she said.  “Eat.”  She opened the box.
“It’s a mushroom,” and the mushroom reminded me of a mini pizza.  Was everybody high?  Was that what was going on here?  They were all riding the mushroom wave.  “No thanks,” but the people in front of the door melted against the glass.  “Let me out,” I said, glaring at everyone.
“Eat.”  One of the men emerged from behind the counter.  “Or end up like the last customer that refused.”
“Yeah,” I said.  “What happened to the last customer that refused?”  I followed his gaze over to the oven.
I grabbed the mushroom and forced it into my mouth.  Surprisingly, it tasted good, but then little spikes plunged into my mouth, piercing the tongue.  I gagged but then giggled, feeling this incredible rush.  I sat down at a table nearby, and I wanted more.  The mushroom was all that mattered not the world waiting for me outside.
Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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About Author Melissa R. Mendelson:

Melissa R. Mendelson is a Horror, Science-Fiction, and Dystopian Author. Her short stories have been published by Sirens Call Publications, Dark Helix Press, and Transmundane Press. She also has a variety of short stories and poetry available on Medium.

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