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

Posted on January 25, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Beyond 
by Ela Lourenco

Banished, exiled, cast out of my home

Left to rot in this nowhere place

Shivering with immense heat, all alone.

.

Punished by a society of self-righteous sinners

My pleas of innocence, ignored and refuted

I lost, the truly evil ones, the winners.

.

Pushed through the portal into this desolate place

Where the heat melts the sky into the sea

And survival is an elemental race.

.

The only creatures here, skeletal crows and decaying trees

The odour of the poisonous putrid swamp bubbles up

I must survive, to one day be free.

.

They think I have died; no one survives the Beyond

Either you starve or melt to death, corpse feasted on by crows

Yet they do not know, I have managed to break my bonds…

Fiction © Copyright Ela Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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More from Ela Lourenco:

awakeningDragon Born: Book Three
Awakening

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

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elizabeth H. Smith @bethsmithwrites @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 25, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Departing Together
by Elizabeth H. Smith

Fog of the mind and body, drifting down open road. I am the cloud of confusion, the storm behind the wheel. The raging thunder and lighting of an engine powered by fury. ‘Till death do us part—that was the commitment, the vow, the promise.

But that condolence to my soul was whisked away as quick as the damp air over my windshield. She tore sacred words apart, pulled away from an ethereal bond by her own will. Her legs carry her soul away from mine with intent. That thin line of trust stretches with each step, the links weaken and break.

So down this path I scream in search of reconnection, to repair whatever damage has been done. I want to put the puzzle back together, even if the pieces don’t fit. Maybe I can find the rights words, maybe I can’t. But I must try.

And there she is ahead, in the middle of the road. But something is wrong. Is she kneeling?

I try to stop, but the blacktop is slick.

In the glow of my headlights, she sinks into the pavement, bubbles arise to announce the lung’s evacuation of air. As my tires splash into the liquid abyss, one thought repeats—death would not do us part, but rather bury us together.

Fiction © Copyright Elizabeth H. Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay
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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.

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Michelle Joy Gallagher @Aphelia @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 24, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Surrender 
by Michelle Joy Gallagher

Sasha glared at the loose threads in the once great tapestry that lined the walls. It was dusty and worn thin over time in the places where it had come in contact with human hands, frayed and discolored where the sun bludgeoned it day after day. The sun never felt more cruel to her than now in her late 80s. She had only memories, but even the memories began to wear thin. There had been ecstatic nights spent laughing and dancing while the candles flickered and music filled the air. There had been people, and a sense of wonder. A magic that at the time seemed would never expire. Now here she was at the stale and dusty end.

Suddenly the tears and snags in the old silk were too much. Tearfully she stood at the wall and pulled it to her face. “This isn’t fitting for such a precious thing.” She whispered to herself. She dug around in her old sewing box and found a needle and some thread that almost matched the color of the old tapestry, and returned to the grand room determined. She found the nearest scar, left near the baseboard by a hungry rat, and sat down hard on the floor beside it.

She felt dizzy and suddenly stupid for undertaking such a task. Her hands ached just from carrying the needle between rooms. She chided herself, determination returning. “You’ve got nothing else to do, you old bat!”

As soon as she’d sewn the first stitch, her memory came alive, full of color and more vivid than it had been in decades. She could almost hear the excited chatter, the echo of footfalls, the stringed instruments.  But it all had been drowned by a resounding throb in her knuckles. She bit her lip and started the second stitch and then then third and by the fourth, it was as if she’d closed her eyes and opened them and was going again. She’d worn the pearls her father gave her, and a dress of fine lace that glimmered in the candlelight as she walked around the room. The pain subsided. She closed her eyes, letting her hands work on their own, falling deeper into the exquisite reverie of being 19 and feeling as if gravity had no affect on her. Floating around the room, smiling and greeting guests, hands folded neatly at her waist, fine curtsies and bows, men asking for a turn to dance. The pain by this time had completely vanished.

Her fingers slipped and plunged the needle into skin, and blood slow but insistent poured from the wound. She took no notice even after the second and third prick. Her memories were more real now to her than anything in the present time. She lay her head against the wall and breathed in serene deep breaths, displacing dust and inhaling it without flinching. Soon she had sewn most of her arm to the tapestry and she did it with the same shining smile that had won and broken the hearts of her gentlemen callers.

Fiction © Copyright Michelle Joy Gallagher
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Michelle Joy Gallagher:
31dLq1v2KHL._SX308_BO1,204,203,200_Disremembering
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 Kai Wilson @Kaiberie @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 24, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Sleepers
by Kai Wilson 

I could see the girl in front of me, her hospital gown moving in the light wind blowing around us. A long braid, bark wash dark, and perfectly neat, ran down to the centre of her back. Beneath it, I could see the ties of the robe she was wearing, and as I saw them, I realised my back was chilled too. It was as if in seeing her, I realised we were identically clothed. It was weird.

“Honey, are you ok?” I asked, my voice a little hoarse. My head was spinning. “Where is this place?”

“I don’t know,” she said. The wind whipped, bringing her voice to me, and small cardboard rectangles crossed in front of me. Dusk was falling and I could feel the cool wooden sleepers under my feet, beyond the hem of the bloodstained hospital robe. Looking at my hands, I saw bruises… all over my arms too. Puncture wounds where IV’s might have been. In my hand, a card said in crisp gold print, was a simple passage.

“Move forward, never back,
Your memory, intention and your thoughts,
from them alone, the sleepers are wrought.
You are 401,”

I turned the card over, and in a different type, smeared, disgusting. “Don’t look back.”  I shuddered and raised my head, gazing ahead of us both, trying to ground myself.  As if echoing the sentiment, the girl began crying. “They always look back.  I’m 321. Others just…look back. And go away,”

The tracks we were standing on split, a curve away to the left, and a straight. Mist covered the bottom of the building out on the straight. It looked…peaceful, but something told me that there was things in the mist. Shapes and shadows moved in there, though nothing clear enough to see. To the right, the track was clear, and I could see down onto a plain of sand. That way, off into the distance, the clouds cleared, and the sky looked cold, crisp, and highlighted with stars.

Another crack, more wind, and one of the rectangles landed at my feet. I bent, lightheaded again, and retrieved it. The gold had faded, a large red, crisp stamp said “failed”. I turned the card over, and it said, “376 – She looked back.”

The sky crackled and lit, and the world in front of us lit, pain wash bright.  A whisper behind me though caught my attention, and my skin began to crawl. Something prompted me to move, I stepped forward.

“Where are we, do you know?” As I settled on the sleeper, moving the gravel stone, sharp and chill, there was a tremendous crack behind us. No light, in fact, for a second it felt like there was darkness behind me. That feeling of light dropping around me was accentuated by another crack of lightning. Dizzying movement and a feeling of tilting, then I was there again. Just. There. But the girl…she’d moved over the intersection, onto the side closer to the building, instead of the curve. “Honey, where are you going-“

“I’m lost, do you know?” a voice behind her chimed in. I hadn’t sensed someone behind me, but there was a male voice there now. Timid, timorous. “What is this place?” he continued. “This wasn’t where…”

“Pass or fail, make your choice,” the voice of the girl floated to me as she stepped forward, into the mist.  The shadows roiled, and then settled into the diffuse patterns.

“Where did she-” He trailed off and a chill ran down my spine, fingers of dread stroking the skin at the back of my thighs, pins and needles like I was about to be beaten. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt since I was a child. Shame washed through me, and I heard a rustle as the male voice behind me seemed to move closer.  I could smell a charnel reek at my back, a chill surrounding me.

“Why did you bring me here? They were watching me…they flipped the switch.” Confused, I automatically took another step forward. “I didn’t…?” I said softly.  He growled and seemed to match my step.

“You bitch! You brought me here,” he snapped. Then I heard, “what the hell is this…” broken by an unearthly scream.  And even though I was told not to, I turned. Before everything went black, I saw a figure behind me, the sleeper I’d been on before a mass of tentacles, pulling him in.  And then some reached out to grab me.

Fiction © Copyright D. Kai Wilson-Viola
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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About Author Kai Wilson:
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Kai Wilson aka Kai, writes in all genres.  She’s currently gearing up to release her first true Crime book and website.  This piece is an offshoot of ‘The Rememberancers,’ which is up in the next batch of plans.
When not writing, she can be found gaming or taking photos with her family in the Cotswolds, where she lives.

Find Kai Wilson on Facebook!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 23, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Good Bones 
by Suzanne Madron

Every night since he’d bought the house, he could hear the sounds of footsteps wandering around. At first, he had ignored it. Old houses creak and settle, he knew. He had renovated enough of them to know all of the ways a house could talk if one was quiet enough to listen.

This house was different. The sprawling Victorian had an odd feel to it that he was unable to put his finger on when he had bought it at auction. The owners had been the last of the family that built it, and with no one to claim it when they died, it had gone on the market.

It was his second week in the house, and he lay on his makeshift cot and stared up into the shadows of the crown molding. The first few nights he heard the footsteps, he had checked to ensure there were no squatters or burglars in the house, then chalked it up to old floorboards and plumbing.

He sat up and rubbed at his eyes. What had started as a single set of footsteps now sounded as if an entire group was wandering the halls. He grabbed his phone and the hammer he kept next to the cot and stepped into the hallway. There was no one and nothing but dust motes and the sound of phantom footsteps.

He cocked his head to the side in confusion. The sound was coming not from the hallway, but inside the walls. His heart leaped with excitement when he thought of hidden passageways. It would be a great selling point when he put the house back on the market.

He followed the footsteps through the house, down into the finished basement. He flicked on the lights, sure that he would discover whoever had been lurking inside the walls, but there was no one. The footsteps continued on, past a wall and into what he had assumed was the house’s foundation and dirt in the backyard.

He pressed against the wood of the wall and felt a cool draft. “Nope. Not tonight,” he muttered and went back to bed. He would figure out where this went in the morning.

Sleep eluded him, and as soon as the gray light of pre-dawn crept through the uncurtained windows, he was back in the basement with his tools and a gun. The wall, he discovered, was on a spring hinge, and popped open as soon as he pressed on it.

Beyond the wall was a dark passageway leading along the basement walls and beyond. He shone his flashlight into the space and followed the passage beyond the old foundation.

Roughly fifteen feet in, he discovered an odd space, and impossibly, another building. It was old, much older than the house itself, and made entirely of stone. He wandered around it, trying to figure out what it could have been. There were no windows and only one door. He ran his hands over the strange symbols carved into the ancient wood and lifted the latch.

When he stepped into the building, he was bathed in an orange glow. An entire world spread out before him, and he found himself on a rock ledge overlooking a vast cavern. Bones crunched beneath his feet, and the walls of the small structure were nowhere to be found. He spun around to exit only to find the door was gone.

Below him, the ground began to move. All at once, he understood who – and what – had been making the sound of footsteps in the walls of the house.

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alyson Faye @AlysonFaye2 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 23, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


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Night Meeting
by Alyson Faye

Driving down the A11 at 2am hedged in by the East Anglian forests – the mist rolling in – Blake thought he could be the only person in the world awake, albeit pumped up with take out coffee, but  sentient enough to drive.

It had been a crap week at work, lay-offs, the boss throwing a hissy fit and computers crashing. The cottage in Norfolk beckoned, quiet, isolated and cosy. He craved all that it offered. He  wanted to stay there forever.

He reached for his coffee cup and in the glow of the headlights he caught a glimpse of shimmering silver, water pooling on the road, and something or someone kneeling, no rising – from the road’s surface.

What the hell? The mist blurred everything, distorting distances. He began to slow down. He braked, changing down the gears, felt the car sliding to the edge, where it stopped, bonnet nudging the grass.

Blake stared, open-mouthed, straight ahead, hearing the wipers wheeze and his heart thumping faster with fright. He could see a young woman, resting not on the road, but in it and still rising up. Around her the tarmac was a slushy black gel. She was young, feline, and staring right at him. His phone buzzed – a reminder of the outside world, but as he went to look at it, the signal died. Blake opened the car door; the mist stroked his face, and hands, stealing into the car. It was slimy and tendrilous.

“You OK?”

Idiot, how can she be?

By now the girl was free up to her knees, smiling at him. The black gel lapped around her body, but eel-like, she wriggled and two legs appeared.

“Help me.”

Blake noticed how the mist was swarming over the car, and the tree lines, yet avoided going near the girl, leaving her cocooned in a bubble of amber headlights. Her own eyes glowed tawny gold.

Weird eyes.

 He walked towards her. The forest watched him, the night animals silenced. Nothing stirred. Blake failed to notice any of this. His gaze being fixed solely on the woman’s alabaster shoulders, her pouting lips, her shiny wet slicked-back hair, her long legs.

“How? Who are you?” His words slurred.

“Come to me.” Naked arms stretched out to him.

Blake stomped the tarmac, checking it was solid. Yes, it seemed to be rock hard again. He stood right by her.

“Kiss me.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Her eyes really are gold. Her lips were red, blood-red, and tiny jewels glittered in her hair. Her flesh was pearly white, and chilly. His lips lingered on hers, she tasted of marzipan and something else, not so sweet.

“You’re so cold?” Blake tried to withdraw from her embrace, but strands of her hair were entangled in his shirt buttons, her hands were on his shoulders, something else, he wasn’t sure what, was clinging to his belt. Blake couldn’t move.

He smelt burning tarmac, rotting fish, and then his legs began to sink beneath him. The woman’s eyes gazed into his, he saw tiny fires blazing there and part of him didn’t want to fight her.

“Come join me. We live below.” She gestured, and in the liquefying tarmac, Blake glimpsed many golden eyes watching him, hands reaching up for him, his senses were overloaded with desire. The woman bit down on his lip, drawing beads of blood. Her arms were everywhere at once, round his neck, his waist, between his legs.

Tentacles. I can’t get free.

Her kisses chilled him. His heart slowed . . . slower  . . .  slower . . . whilst his body sank lower . . . into the black jelly and then down into the below.

Just as the top of Blake’s hair vanished beneath the road, a car’s headlights appeared – pushing back the mist, revealing nothing but smooth tarmac and Blake’s abandoned car, flashing its hazard lights. Stopped at the edge, its driver door open, pinging in the night air, bereft of its driver.

“Bloody awful night to break down,” the man said to his wife.

“If we see him hitch-hiking, we’d better pick him up,” she answered, settling back into her comfy seat and pushing the heater controls up higher.

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 Tawny McCarty @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 22, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Asphyxia 
by Tawny McCarty

Deep within the abyss of dreams

Resounds the sirens wicked screams;

Into slumber I dare not fall

For the victim I’ll be of her lustful call.

Alas, A man I am only

Deep in my heart so lost and so lonely;

No matter how I’ve tried

Futile are my attempts to run and hide.

To the demoness I have fallen prey

I fear I will live not another day;

I am paralyzed as I lie upon the bed

Overcome with the feeling of dread.

Suddenly I found myself fighting for air

Drowning within her raven black hair;

Falling upon me were pieces of skin

And razor sharp teeth behind her grin.

In her web I have been entangled

And the life from my body she has strangled;

Now I fear I will forever dwell

In the place between heaven and hell.

She’ll crawl inside and steal your breath

Leaving you helpless and praying for death;

Within the darkness flooding your brain as you sleep

Beware of the succubus lingering deep.

Fiction © Copyright Tawny McCarty
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

Posted on January 22, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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A Piece of Advice for the Recently Deceased 
by Alina Măciucă

There’s even a goddess of storms on the other side.

She takes the petty feuds you had with your neighbors,

All the tears you’ve shed over the death of pets,

As well as over other inexpedient breakup and terminations

And spreads them onto the netherworld sky to frighten

Little girls and elderly ladies.

 

As above, so below, there are trains there, too.

And sometimes they carry people you think you’ve met

At some point, but you can’t quite tell. They seem happy,

But they never answer back when you scream nonsensical questions at them.

 

You’ll reach a crossroads or two on your way to wherever you’re going.

You’ll be tempted to think it matters whether you turn left or right –

It won’t. And it will be up to you to make up your mind whether

That is heaven or hell.

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 Marge Simon @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 21, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Moontree 
by Marge Simon

Chilly night

Out here in the dark, my god what was I thinking? It’s chilly, I pull my shawl closer around my shoulders, warm against my skin.  Grandmother made it, it’s all I have to remember her by. I love my shawl.

Shawl

Yarn catches on thorns underbrush as I rush on, as if the shawl is trying to hold me back. But wait. it’s just like your arms holding me so I couldn’t reach my child, my sweet little baby who never cries. Never, ever cries. No crying because she’s dead, you scream, but you lie. It can’t be so. I know she’s out here.  Out safe inside the Moontree, where I hid her from you. My hair blows into my eyes, I’m sure I hear my baby crying now, crying in the wind.

Wind

A fierce wind rips away Grandmother’s shawl.  I start trying to free it from the brush, but it unravels as fast as I pull.  I’m crying now, remembering you, seeing your face stricken in pain. Pain from the skinning knife I jammed into your stomach. Once, twice and twist upward, that’s how to do it, deer or man alike. You fall to your knees and I turn away. I’m free!

Free

A few more steps, I see it now, what I came out to find on this darkest of nights. The glowing light, all misty-round ahead, framing the silhouette of a bent and leafless tree.  And snug within its hollow, wrapped against the chill will be my wee babe. I remember – was it weeks ago or yesterday? – I remember grabbing my newborn from your arms, running deep into the forest where stands the Moontree.

Moontree

I plunge my hand inside the hole, groping around, sure to find her tiny head and then to draw her out and hug her to my aching breast. Sweet Moontree miracle, my daughter, my own! But all within is moldy leaves.  The Moontree must have swallowed her.  

Out here in the dark, my god what was I thinking? It’s chilly, I pull my shawl closer around my shoulders…

 

Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Marge Simon:

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The Demeter Diaries
by Marge Simon and‎ Bryan D. Dietrich

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

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 21, 2022 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Game 
by Rie Sheridan Rose

Margo said it was a game. She asked if I wanted to play, and I was so bored—and lonely, frankly—that I swept aside my better judgment and said yes.

I’d heard rumors…that Margo wasn’t quite normal, that the crowd she hung out with were downright bitches…though some spelled that with a W. I didn’t care. I hadn’t made a single friend since we moved to Lamesville, and I was willing to give her crew a shot.

We all piled into Margo’s Tesla—Daddy loved his little girl—and drove around in circles until I was thoroughly lost. I couldn’t possibly find my way home, and I guess that was the point. Seven of us had squeezed into the Model S, and my concentration was on not getting suffocated by Valerie Neusbaum’s chest as she practically sat on my lap. So I really wasn’t paying attention to the route either.

When the car finally came to a stop, we were in the middle of the woods on the east side of town. This area hadn’t been hit with the development boom yet, and the foggy night was lit only by the pale light of a waxing moon. It was cold and damp, and I wished I’d worn a sweater as I shivered in my sleeveless top.

A second car pulled up and disgorged another half-dozen or so girls.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Margo growled.

“Excuuuuse me,” retorted Carol Dickerson. “I had to stop for supplies. You used all the eye of newt last month.”

Eye of newt? What were these ditzes playing at? Pretending to be witches?

“Oh, there’s nothing pretend about it,” Margo purred, turning to me—her eyes gleamed even in the darkness. “We are witches. Tonight we are here to play our favorite game.”

“Look—I don’t really feel so good. Can you take me home?” I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. My mother always made me promise not to get involved in the ways of witches.

“But you are the guest of honor, Trixie. We need you.” Margo nodded sharply and two of her minions grabbed my arms and pulled me out to the middle of the road.

I struggled as hard as I could, but they were stronger than I was. I could see Margo in the glow cast by the Tesla’s headlights. She had her head cocked to one side, as if gauging my suitability—or position.

When they had me in the dead center of the road, she started to murmur strange words in a language I didn’t recognize. They were too soft for me to grasp any meaning.

Suddenly, the asphalt beneath my feet began to…melt. It was like standing in a pool of viscous water. I was sinking!

Panic filled me. The tarry substance was crawling up my legs. Screaming would do no good—we were out in the middle of nowhere.

The clammy slime was now at my waist. I closed my eyes.

“Reversi,” I whispered.

The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of the Tesla—and Margo was up to her chest in the middle of the road.

“What have you done?” she shrieked.

“What’s the matter, Margo?” I brushed an errant glob of tar off the front of my shirt. “This was your idea, after all.”

“Get back here!”

I turned and walked away. I was sure I could find a way home somehow. Maybe that car that was currently barreling down the road toward Margo.

Mama would be mad at me for getting swept up in the business of another coven, but this time it wasn’t exactly my fault. I had just wanted to make some friends…

I glanced back over my shoulder. The headlights of the oncoming car made a halo of radiance around Margo. She almost looked angelic for a moment there.

I looked forward again as the other witchlings finally noticed the imminent danger and began making a terrible racket.

I shook my head with a sigh. Yeah, this really just wasn’t my kind of game at all.

The sound of screeching tires filled the night. I smiled to myself.

 
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Overheard in Hell:
Dark Poetry

Poems exploring hell and damnation. Tales of sorrow, vengeance, betrayal, and redemption. Ghosts, ghouls, and demons stalk these pages. Don’t read in a lonely house…in a darkened room by a single candle…

…unless you like the touch of an icy finger up your spine.

Available on Amazon!

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