Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi @ErinAlMehairi @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_Jan_LOH

Beneath the Surface of Us All
by Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi

She has no cares for earthly exploration whether land or water. Mired with no focus, her mind races with anxiety and pain and chaos enough to fire several universes. She floats through life peering through blinking eyelashes and wondering about the tangible dirt most people grab and can feel running through their fingers. She’s been freed from topography constraints and has submerged into a realm saved for a chosen few in which maps aren’t needed, time doesn’t exist, and movements are fluid.
But she’s cold. Cold of heart, stoic of mind, narrow in her observations. It’s a dichotomy but it’s also a trauma effect. She needs my warmth, my clarity. When I reach out my hand to her, she touches only my fingers briefly and I shiver as electrons shoot up inside me. In her own quest for feeling, she opens the darkest places within me, pulls and widens and prods, but I’m not fearful, as instead I crave it.
I start to question my own world, my life, my surrounding stimuli. I sink into her. And then, she opens her maw, and she eats me whole.
Fiction © Copyright Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi
Fiction Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi:

Breathe. Breathe. 

BreatheBreathe. is a collection of dark poetry and short fiction exploring the surreal depths of humanity. It’s a representation of how life breaks us apart and words put us back together. Purged onto the pages, dark emotions flow, urging readers into murky seas and grim forests, to the fine line between breathing and death.In Act One, readers are presented with a serial killer in Victorian London, a lighthouse keeper with an eerie legacy, a murderous spouse that seems to have walked right out of a mystery novel, and a treacherous Japanese lady who wants to stay immortal. The heightened fears in the twilight of your minds will seep into the blackest of your nights, where you have to breathe in rhythm to stay alive.

In Act Two, the poetry turns more internal and pierces through the wall of denial and pain, bringing visceral emotions to the surface unleashing traumas such as domestic abuse, violence, and illness.
In the short stories, you’ll meet residents of Valhalla Lane whose lives are on a violent parallel track to collision, a man who is driven mad by the sound of a woodpecker, a teenage girl who wakes up on the beach and can’t find another soul in sight, a woman caught in a time shift pitting her against the Egyptian goddess Anuket, and a little girl whose whole world changes when her favorite dandelion yellow crayon is discontinued.
Amid these pages the haunting themes of oppression, isolation, revenge, and madness unfold through folklore, nightmares, and often times, raw, impulsive passion crafted to sear from the inside out.
With a touching foreword by the Bram Stoker nominated author Brian Kirk, Breathe. Breathe. will at times unsettle you, and at times embrace you. Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi, a veteran writer and editor of the written word, offers up a mixed set of pieces, identifying her as a strong, new voice in dark fiction that will tear the heart from your chest, all the while reminding you to breathe.

Available on Amazon!

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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!

003_Jan_LOH

Out There
by Kendra Hale

They say we are all reaching out for something in life. Whether it is a purpose or a driving force, a goal, there is something for each of us. I must have been the exception to this calling, to the drawing of the soul. No siren sang for me, hoping to hold me close, leading me down the beautiful disastrous path to my end. Even the reaper abandoned me in my greatest need for at least one person to be there in my greatest hour. 
Isn’t it fucked that that is what people consider the last time our blood pumps? The last time our lungs will fill with oxygen, that our eyes will open searching for this supposed purpose. This greatest hour rhetoric is for fools, with a fool’s purpose. It is blackness and cold. But at last I am not alone. 
For we are many. 
What they reach for is beyond me though I hear their hushed whispers in gravelly voices that are harsh even when soft. It is so hard to make out anything but maybe that is the point of us. We are the unfulfilled. The forgotten. This is the true island of misfit fucking toys. All of us reaching for something that was never in the scope of our realms to begin with. 
Isn’t that just the cosmic joke of the afterlife? No flashing lights, or warmth. No pearly gates await our souls. Is that even what we are? Are we shadows? Are we what these ghost hunters call echoes? Are we the goosebumps of cold you feel as we reach for something…someone…just to feel like we mattered? To feel like that existence that felt like just a moment ago has not been lost to us? 
I wish I could say that I would have lived my life differently, that those choices that confound and are often shied away from I would have grabbed with the certainty that nothing would be more important then in that moment. This is a lie. A massive one. I would have changed nothing for even with this knowledge…nothing mattered. 
But that is the past life and this is my now. This is OUR now. This mass of squirming want. Just reaching out and wanting to connect. I can’t speak for any of the souls around me…but I miss warmth. I miss the heat. The blood rushing through my pink skin and pumping with life. 
I can’t break free…there are no shackles yet my form is stitched in with these other damned souls. I can only come to that conclusion that we are damned, but there are so many. So many and yet it is so cold. What I’d give…just to have one second of warmth. I want this with all of what is left. 
I just keep reaching…
Fiction © Copyright Kendra Hale
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Kendra Hale:

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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 Scarlett R. Algee @ScarlettRAlgee @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_Jan_LOH
Yellow Light

by Scarlett R. Algee

It’s partially overgrown; the roof gapes in spots, splintered timbers sagging inward. Ivy swarms the brick, engulfing the edge of the warped wooden door with a leafy green maw.
It had looked so different when I was six, gleaming and splendid, the path from the street up to the door lined with roses, the lintel angelically white. Tim had been three then, my brother’s hand gripped firmly in mine until the door had swept open and he’d ripped away to run in—
—and the walls inside, oh God, the walls were so wrong, golden and odd-angled and flecked with beads of blood; and as I’d torn from room to opulent room, screaming for Tim, searching in closets and under furniture because I knew I’d be in so much trouble, the floor had shifted and swayed beneath my feet until I’d realized the house was breathing—
—and I’d come out, with red splotches on my yellow coat, but Tim had not.
Twenty years later, that house is still here. That door is still open.
And now, there are lights on inside.
I stare for a long, long minute before I zip up my jacket and crunch across the lawn.
I’m going back in, and this time I’ll find my brother.
Fiction © Copyright Scarlett R. Algee
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Scarlett R. Algee:

The Lift: Nine Stories of Transformation, Volume One

The hall is dark and the overhead light flickers. Sounds echo, and there’s a creaking and clanging that gets louder as you stand in the semi-dark. The elevator opens and you’re offered a ride. Step inside and ride it to the story chosen for your transformation. Don’t be afraid, for Victoria, the mysterious girl who operates The Lift, waits to guide you. Set in the same world as the award nominated audio drama, The Lift’s first written anthology features nine all new stories by fan favorite writers and special bonus content by creators Daniel Foytik and Cynthia Lowman. The collection is brought to life with beautiful illustrations by Jeanette Andromeda for each story.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author R.A. Clarke @RAClarkeWrites @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_Jan_LOHBeautiful
by R.A. Clarke

Janna’s Journal Day 1:
I arrived today. Pharmantis set me up in a private room with a soft, warm bed and three gourmet meals a day—a huge step up from the shelter. 
They promised I’d be beautiful again. That the burns covering my body, and the crash that caused them, would become worries of the past. My hair might even regrow.
I know there are risks… untested drugs and all that. But more than anything, I want my life back. To feel normal. To walk in public without staring or laughter. I have nothing to lose. 
I still can’t believe I got selected!
Every participant in the trial (30 of us) has to wear tiny monitors and report daily to the testing lab for skin cream application. Pretty straight forward.
Day 2:
It’s odd not having any windows. I mean, I get why—no outside access equals no leaked information. But it’s still weird. 
The cream tingles, but no allergic reactions. So far, so good.
Dare I hope?
Day 5
Holy shit, it’s a miracle! My scars are gone—like, GONE! They just sloughed off like snakeskin. I can’t stop staring in the mirror. 
Pharmantis says full treatment is required to ensure lasting results.
Fine by me!
Day 10:
Something’s not right. My skin looks pale, almost grey, and I’m exhausted. No! 
The Pharmantis doctors assure me these side effects will dissipate after full treatment. 
I’m trusting they know what they’re doing.
Feeling uneasy. 
Day 12:
Pain meds are useless. I’ve had a pounding headache for two days and I’m too nauseous to eat.
What’s worse, my skin looks darker every day, and the doctors keep saying it’s all part of the process. Seriously?
They won’t even let me make a phone call!
This is so messed up. I’m walking.
Day 13:
WTF! I tried to leave, but Pharmantis said, “The trials are going as planned. As per contract, you can’t revoke consent unless something goes wrong.” I lost my shit. 
I kicked and screamed as they held me down to apply the cream.
Day 14:
They’re watching us all very closely now, limiting participant contact.
But we’ve got a plan.
Day 16:
Today we revolted, storming the doors. It was a solid attack, but it’s like Pharmantis knew. They used stun guns, and now we’re all confined to our rooms.
This headache is making my eyes bulge. I swear my limbs are elongating, there are two nubs forming on my back, and… I’m growing a tail!
What am I becoming?
I’m freaking out.
Day 18:
Everything hurts so bad. All I feel is rage. They had to sedate me to apply the cream.
Memories keep fading. I can’t remember where I grew up. 
These “drugs” are messing with my head.
Day 20:
My fingers fused overnight. I planned to use these new pincer-like appendages to my advantage—but Pharmantis is always one step ahead. They fired a tranq dart through the slot in the door. 
I feel so helpless…
Day 22:
My eyes popped out, finally. They’re huge and turning black like my skin, but at least this horrendous headache is fading.
I worry I’m running out of time. Unwanted thoughts keep sneaking in… horrible thoughts.
I need to escape… before it’s too late.
Day 23:
Today I smashed the mirror, stabbing broken shards into my wrists. I’d rather die than become a monster. But my skin was too tough—hard, like a shell. I don’t know what to do anymore.
Sometimes I don’t know who I am.
I have so little energy.  
Day 24:
A plateful of grasshoppers slid under my door this morning. They looked disgusting… yet, hunger gripped me for the first time in weeks. 
I couldn’t help myself… 
They tasted so good.
Day 25:
Wow, I slept all day—must’ve needed it. I feel refreshed, yet also confused. Why are the first 23 pages of my journal missing? Why can’t I remember what I wrote?
And, where am I?
Day 26:
All this food has given me strength. I feel amazing—powerful. Yet still so hungry. I crave the taste of something bigger. Something I can hunt. 
My caretakers promise that all my questions will be answered soon.
I have this bizarre feeling I should hate them, yet I can’t imagine why… 
Day 27:
My wings finally sprouted! They’re so gorgeous, I actually cried. The creators even gave me a special name to celebrate: Butterfly.
They think I’m beautiful.
Day 28: 
Today, I met 29 others just like me. My family. I’m not alone anymore. 
The creators say our insectile DNA makes us special—superior warriors. 
My stomach growls as they explain our sacred duty.
Let the cleansing begin.
Fiction © Copyright R,A. Clarke
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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About author R.A. Clarke:

bobThe Big Ol’ Bike
Oliver is small, from footprint to glasses. He gets an old bike for his birthday and loves it, but not everyone does. Challenged to a race by the meanest bully in school, will Oliver be big enough to prove heroes come in all sizes?

Get your copy here!

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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!

004_Jan_LOH

Perspective
by Angela Yuriko Smith

he: astronaut high
more far out than a rocket
lost and outer spaced
numb and comet cold
a warp speed drift to nowhere
alienated.
she: drowning girl deep
buried under the abyss
blind and untethered
drift in the current
coming apart like a corpse
a monstrosity.
they: two broken cogs
no truce,
no quarter given
fighting each other
a broken machine
sum of dysfunctional parts
systematic fails.
they made a good match
to light their world into flame
burning everything
different perspectives
could only see I to I
but neither could breathe.
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 Terrie Leigh Relf @TLRelf @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_Jan_LOH

Lord of the Manor
by Terrie Leigh Relf

It had been a brutal winter, and the people were starving, their ashen hands raised up in supplication for just a morsel of bread, a bit of fruit. Anything. I peered through a peephole as the lord and lady of the manor took a few steps onto the platform, house servants following close behind, nearly crippled by the weight of heavy baskets and buckets. Many of the gathered throng called out their hopes and prayers for the lord and lady’s health and well-being, while others cursed the hands that had not fed them.
With a wave of his hand, the lord directed the first pair of servants forward, followed by the next and then the next. The servants waited for the sign to dispense the food and drink, but the lord and lady turned and walked back into their manor. I heard the locks clicking, the bolts sliding, and wondered how the servants would gain access. 
Apparently, their masters’ retreat was the sign the servants awaited . . . In near unison, they lifted lids off buckets and baskets, recoiling at what these contained. Even from a safe distance, I gagged as the scent of rotting food and something worse. Much, much worse.
As the mob clambered up the platform, pushing and shoving to reach what they believed was food and drink, the servants turned to run. 
“This way!” I called out to them, hoping to guide the servants to the side entrance, to no avail. As the mob’s rage escalated, the servants didn’t have a chance. 
They weren’t the only ones torn limb from limb . . . 
I opened the side door and led the charge to my parents’ sitting room, vowing that I would be a better lord of the manor, and they would want for nothing.
Fiction © Copyright Terrie Leigh Relf
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More from author Terrie Leigh Relf:

The Sisterhood of the Blood Moon

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

Available for purchase here!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author K.R. Morrison @KRMorrison2 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_Jan_LOH

Redder Riding Hood
by K.R. Morrison

Red grumbled to herself as she scuffed her feet along the path.
It just wasn’t right. She was supposed to be wearing her red cape when she went to Grandma’s. But nooo…Mom had to wash it today. The visit could have waited until tomorrow, but Mom had insisted that Red go now.
NOW. Even though it was raining and cold and yucky out, Red had to put on her little brother’s yellow rain slicker and trudge out to Grandma’s.
She hated yellow. She hated rain slickers. And she was pretty sure she hated everyone and everything.
There were lights in the windows at Grandma’s—good. Short visit and gone.
But wait—this was not her house. Confused, Red looked around her. These were not her woods.
As she turned to go back the way she had come, she heard barking behind her. She looked back, and saw an enormous dog rushing toward her. And the damn thing had three heads!
Red shrieked and started running. She didn’t get far before something came out of the ground and caught her around the ankle. It picked her up and shook her like a rag doll.
The dog stopped in its tracks. A voice came from all around: “Cerberus! Fetch!”
Red found herself flying through the air, the freaky dog following below her. It caught her in its jaws.
No doubt about it—that yellow slicker was now definitely going to be red.
Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from Author K.R. Morrison:

Be Not Afraid (Pride’s Downfall Vol 1)

Lydia’s faith in God is strong – at least on paper. But what happens when that faith is tested? Turned into a vampire by the worst – Vlad Drakul – she feels that God has abandoned her. But the opposite is true. God rescues her from a fate worse than death, and brings her into the plan He has for global redemption. With the help He sends, she feels like nothing can stop her. But when Vlad torments her again, and then her family, the temptation to run and hide is almost too strong to resist. Her answer to God’s call is the deciding factor in the battle that pits the angelic powers of God against the demonic powers of Hell.

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!

001_Jan_LOH

Ants to a Hill Fire
by Melissa R. Mendelson

I hate the government.  I hate their lies.  They tell us that we are free to do what we want, but they watch our every move, record each word we say.  There is no freedom but only control, and things are getting worse.  The election was a joke, and the country is breaking apart.  Something must be done, and a flier was slid under my front door.
March on the Capitol.  The date and time was set.  Wear all black.  Don’t forget the white armband.  No weapons, but I knew others would bring them.  I tucked a pocketknife into my back pocket.  Who was going to search me during the protest?  I told my parents that I was staying at a friend’s house, and I was staying with a friend.  But he was the one driving me to the Capitol.
“We’re going to tell those fucks what’s real,” my friend said as he floored it.
“We’re going to be late,” I said.
“You’re never late for a protest,” and my friend flew like a bat out of hell, determined to have his fill of blood.
I made it just in time.  I launched out of the car, and so did my friend.  He did not care about a parking ticket.  He did not care about me because within minutes, he disappeared into the crowd.  I was left pushed and pulled with the others, and we stormed the Capitol, breaking down doors and shattering glass.
Someone moved past me.  I thought it was another protestor screaming for their rights, but they were not screaming.  They walked in-between the madness with the hood pulled down low.  Their face turned toward mine.  Large, black eyes jutted outward.  Their mandibles stretched into a hideous grin.  A femur reached for me, but another protestor slammed into them.  And that protestor was tossed aside as if they were nothing but a rag doll.
I backed into a nearby wall.  My eyes scanned the mob.  There was more than one of them.  Each one was strategically positioned, egging on the protestors.  This was what they wanted.  I screamed for everyone to stop.  No one did except for them, and they began to swarm towards me.  Just as they got close, everything went dark, silenced by a hail of bullets.
Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More from Melissa R. Mendelson:

nmkmmName’s Keeper

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

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_Jan_LOHBreathless
by Rie Sheridan Rose

I rise up from the depths
where I was tossed…
no need for chains
thought the lazy man
with the heavy hands
who threw me from the boat—
the wool of the sweater will
be enough.
He was wrong.
I rise up from the depths
where I was tossed…
He plummets from the stars
where he has walked…
tethered to safety
by a slender cord—
drifting downward 
weightless to meet the Earth
as it curves beneath.
Safety is illusory.
He plummets from the stars
where he has walked…
We meet in the middle—
Breathless.
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

519RiHK+1wL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_

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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Linda Lee Rice @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_Jan_LOH

The Crop
by Linda Lee Rice

The full moon shone on the crop, and I realized it was almost harvest time again. The moon always shone on the ones that were ripe, ready to be plucked out of the ground. It also shadowed the ones that needed to spend a bit more time in the ground.
I always had a green thumb; I could grow almost anything in the Before Time. Veggies were always green, and the fruit from the trees dripped with juice. I still had the most aromatic herbs for soups and medicinal purposes. Flowers were beautiful, and I did grow some of them, but you can’t always eat flowers.
When the plague hit, food was scarce. People started riots and killed their neighbors over a slice of bread. It was a terrible time, and I almost didn’t live through it. But being here in this out of the way spot did buy me some time.
I noticed that the soil had changed and whatever I planted grew. It started when I buried a few rabbits’ feet after I had trapped and killed them for my larder. When I went out the next morning, little rabbit toes were stuck above the surface. I figured that some creature had started to dig them up and were interrupted.
When I bent over to cover them back up, they wiggled. I admit I jumped back and let loose some expletives. I pulled one of the feet out and noticed it had grown slightly, but now it lay still in my palm. So, I experimented over the next few days.
I caught some other of the deformed creatures around my wooded area. Killed them and planted different body parts. I always got the best crop, though, with the extremities. So, I would harvest under the full moon enough food for the month. I was content.
Then THEY showed up. The little corner of my world started to become invaded by the remnants of humanity. I tried showing them how planting worked now, but they only wanted what I had. So, I did what I had to do.
My crop has changed now, and I no longer need to get rid of all that disgusting fur after pulling up my harvest. I can just choose what I need, either smoke it or pickle it later for storage. When adding my dried herbs and some strange looking veggies, the crop makes a delicious meal.
As the hands wave in the moonlight, my mouth begins to water.
Fiction © Copyright Linda Lee Rice
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Linda Lee Rice:

me in burgandy hat2

Linda Lee Rice aka Ruzicka has poetry published in Twilight Times, Dark Krypt, Fables, Descending Darkness, Writing Village, Spine, and Page, Muses Gallery, Bloodbond, Lycan Valley Press Publishers, Alban Lake, Highland Park Poetry, Rosette Maleficarum, The Siren’s Call, Edify Fiction

and the June Cotner anthology, “House Blessings” and “Garden Blessings

She has short stories published in The Grit, and Reminisce, Haunted Encounters: Friends and Family, FrostFire Worlds. Plus, a personal essay at Mamalode. She also has various articles and blogs published online as a freelance writer.

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