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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Aug2020_Image04

Rebirth
by Michelle Joy Gallagher

Sarah watched the sun set as she’d done countless times in what had felt like an achingly long life. Except, the sun didn’t set here. It sank, like a skipped stone into the water. The body was wrapped neatly at the prow of her small rowboat, the one she’d built with her father almost 50 years ago. She and her now ex-husband Francis painted it on their honeymoon. They’d spent a week together at her childhood summer home. She’d repaired it and repainted it when he’d asked for a divorce some 20 years later. He’d left her for another woman, and one 15 years her junior. She drank a lot of whiskey then, and the days flew by in a blur. She’d gone back to the place that had always healed her, and she allowed herself to wallow. One night she’d walked naked into the lake intending to drown and gripped a too heavy stone as she plodded along the muddy bottom. As the water slowly swallowed her, she tried to clear her mind of all thought. The water was numbingly cold. She would count to 3 and take a deep breath to let the water flood her lungs. Her eyes opened instinctively when she opened her mouth to breathe. The sunset made the water a murky green that reminded her of jade, mottled through with inclusions of brown from the mud she’d stirred up and clumps of yellow moss dislodged from the rock she carried. It didn’t hurt. Not much. But her lungs burned in a way she’d never experienced before, and she wondered idly if perhaps that was how babies felt when they first drew a breath of air. It didn’t take long before the murky jade green of the water faded to black, and the rock slipped slowly from her fingers and settled on the bottom with a dull thud that she did not hear. When she jolted awake the next morning, warm and dry in her bed, she played with the quilt her mother had hand stitched when she was pregnant with her and hummed softly as the light came up over the hills and illuminated the room. She wasn’t shocked to find herself there but felt a bit unsettled as she crawled out of bed and inched toward the old coffee maker in the small kitchen. How much of that whiskey did she drink the night before? The coffee was stale, but she sipped it gladly while watching the sun rise over the lake. The glass-like placidity of the water was broken by something floating at the surface. Herons lit upon it and pecked. Her curiosity got the best of her and she wandered out in her fuzzy robe to the muddy bank and strained to see what the object was. The herons screamed obscenities at her, sensing competition for their prized find. When her eyes adjusted to the contrasting shadows of the object, she could see a pale hand, and a halo of auburn hair shot through with grey, floating serenely. A fixture of the landscape. She gazed in horror then, as the herons continued to dive and collect strips of flesh from the corpse. It wore a blue gown just like the one she wore under her robe. She decided to row out and investigate, in case her eyes were playing tricks on her as they’d done in the past. When she reached the body and chased the hungry birds away with an oar, she prodded it til she was able to flip it face up. She found herself staring down at her own face. The one in the water had lost an eye to surrounding scavengers, but it was unmistakably her. The Sarah that walked into the lake never came back up. She pulled the body closer with the oar and then pulled it slowly on board, almost capsizing the boat when she did. She looked down at herself feeling both an immense amount of love and loathing.
“You fucking stupid bitch.” She whispered, then collapsed upon the body sobbing, kissing her own dead face gently, forgivingly, trying to transplant as much kindness as she could with each one.
 
Fiction © Copyright Michelle Joy Gallagher
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Michelle Joy Gallagher:
cafemacabre
Café Macabre

This collection of twelve stories and artwork by women is truly a collection of the macabre. Make a reservation for terror and get ready to delve into the deepest, darkest fears of some of the best writers and artists in the fiction game. Leah McNaughton Lederman has collected an anthology of the truly strange… a tome of the weird. Take a seat and order a cup, you’re dining at Café Macabre!

Available on Amazon!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Naching T. Kassa @NachingKassa @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Aug2020_Image03

Scratch
by Naching T. Kassa

They called him “Scratch” and he moved through the world like a wolf among sheep. His eyes, shaded against the yellow glare of the sky, scanned the highway for prey. The vintage Harley, a machine of pure heavy metal, hummed beneath him as he traversed the blacktop. It roared passed the rest stop, garnering a few nervous stares from the family inside the Winnebago. Scratch grinned. What would they say if he pulled up beside them? Would they admire the smear of crimson which marred the Harley’s finish? What would they think of the faded swastika he’d hand-tattooed on his right hand? If he smiled, would they shit their pants? He considered stopping, but the sight of the mother put him off. She wasn’t his type at all. A woman of advancing years with lank blonde hair, jowls, and frightened eyes. It’d be easy to tempt her away from her mouse-like husband. Too easy. She might even enjoy what he did to her.
He traveled on.
The next car he saw appeared two hours later. It rippled out of the heated air like a ghost.
A dark figure sat behind the wheel of the silver Vette.
The bumper bore signs of a feminine occupant. A sticker with the legend, ALWAYS A LADY and another with a pink dreamcatcher, piqued Scratch’s interest. He followed.
Twenty miles passed beneath their wheels. Several times he tried to get a look at the driver, but every time he did, the car sped up. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get along side. At one point, they’d been traveling at well over a hundred miles an hour when a semi had come along in the other lane. It’d forced him back behind the Vette and he’d almost collided with the car’s bumper. He’d quickly regained control, and when he glanced up, glimpsed a feminine gaze in the rearview mirror. A blue eye winked at him and then the car had streaked ahead. It vanished over the next rise.
When Scratch reached the spot, he found the highway ahead empty. A plume of dust from a nearby dirt road, indicated the direction the car had taken. Scratch turned off the highway.
Several tall cacti stood sentinel along the road. Their dark shadows cooled the thick air.
He found the Vette parked off to the side a few minutes later. He brought the Harley to a halt behind the car. There was no sign of the driver. Scratch flipped the kickstand down and stepped off the bike. He hiked up his jeans. When he looked up, he found two beautiful legs hanging out the driver’s side window. The driver wore white canvas shoes with broad laces.
The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he approached. When he reached the window, he found a young brunette reclining across the front seat. She wore a red blouse and black capris.
“You’re new to the desert, aren’t you?” she said.
Scratch didn’t answer. He removed her left shoe.
No light of panic shone in her eyes as he removed the right. Her eyes didn’t widen in shock or fear as he pulled the knife.
“Watch out,” she whispered. “I sting.”
He jerked the car door open. Her bare feet fell to the sand. When they touched the earth, something strange happened. Her feet fused together. Her legs followed.
Terror bloomed in Scratch’s mind as her legs became a giant tail. A strange venomous spike grew from the end of it.
Before he could move, she whipped the tail up between his legs. Agony pulsed through him as the spike pierced the spot between his shoulder blades. He wanted to scream but could only manage a small groan.
Fire flowed through his veins as the woman lifted him off his feet and into the air. His limbs, now paralyzed with venom, had undergone another change. To his horror, he watched them grow limp as though the bones had liquified beneath his skin.
The woman pulled the boots from his feet, then bit the toe off his right foot and spat it into the sand. Her eyes, once so enticing, had gone black and dead.
“Told you I sting,” she whispered.
Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from Naching T. Kassa:

abArterial Bloom

Lush. Brutal.

Beautiful. Visceral.

Crystal Lake Publishing proudly presents Arterial Bloom, an artful juxtaposition of the magnificence and macabre that exist within mankind. Each tale in this collection is resplendent with beauty, teeth, and heart.

Edited by the Bram Stoker Award-winning writer Mercedes M. Yardley, Arterial Bloom is a literary experience featuring sixteen stories from some of the most compelling dark authors writing today.

With a foreword by HWA Lifetime Achievement Award Recipient Linda D. Addison, you are invited to step inside and let the grim flowers wind themselves comfortably around your bones.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Aug2020_Image02Denial
by Ela Lourenco

Gentle waves lap at the shore
My footsteps imprinting in the fast cooling sand
A soft breeze of salt and seaweed
Encircle me in a mist
As the golden sun sinks into the sea.
All is quiet
Except for the symphony of the water
Interspersed by the odd squawk of a gull
The turquoise horizon has turned indigo now
Softly highlighting the flickering stars.
I am alone
No one to bother me
No one to interrupt this peace of mine
I alone escaped my family’s slaughter
I am now alone for the end of all time.
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 A.F. Stewart @scribe77 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Aug2020_Image01
Snapshots
by A.F. Stewart

Only three pictures left, Paris, Rome and… I can’t quite remember, London maybe? The sepia edges on that one are worn. There used to be more, a box worth of photos, but they’ve faded away to nothing, like my memories of them.

Did the photos used to be colour? I’m not sure what colour even looks like anymore. Everything is so drab now, all monotones of grey and brown.

More of the scene has faded away in that photo. Where was it again? Berlin? I suppose it doesn’t matter. If it is disappearing that means it won’t exist soon. Like the other cities, like the rest of the world, even the universe, I assume.

Funny how we thought the end of the world would come in a bang, some natural disaster or a virulent plague. But, no, time itself unravelled, unmaking existence piece by piece. Nothing left. No memories, no monuments, no trace. A few cities remain, with people like me, waiting.

I glance at the photos. One of them is blank now. I toss it into the box with the others.

I wonder what city it was? It’s gone now. Only Rome and… is that Paris in the photo?

Oh dear. Paris is where I am, and the edges on the photo are fading.

Fiction © Copyright A.F. Stewart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from A.F. Stewart:

vnVisions and Nightmares

Tragedy spares no one… and takes no prisoners.

In the twilight shadows, secrets are revealed past the whispers of madness.

Wander into the realm of the old gods with Elenora, where humanity and marriage are a prison.
Step through a looking glass of dark horrors with an Alice you never knew.
Join with Zenna to seek the truth as her death by magic grows closer.
Journey with Olivia as she crosses paths with a monster of the forest and runs for her life.
Watch Isobel summon the faerie to solve her problem of an unwanted husband.
Shiver as Doctor Killbride experiments with corpses to create life from death.
All that and more await within the pages.

Ten stories. Ten women.
Who will survive? Who will fall? And who will succumb to their inner evil?
Find out in Visions and Nightmares.

Warning: This book contains disturbing scenes that may be upsetting to some readers.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

OPEN SUBMISSIONS: The Sirens Call – issue 51 Halloween/Fall 2020| #Horror #eZine #OpenCall #Reprints Welcome #fiction #stories #poetry @Sirens_Call

Promo_Cover_for_Ezine

Halloween/Fall 2020

For the 51st issue of The Sirens Call eZine, we’re looking for short stories, flash fiction, drabbles, and poetry of horror or dark fiction that are well crafted, and since this issue publishes in October – feel free to slam home a Halloween theme!

We have a few taboos listed below, other than that, as long as you write a quality piece intended for an adults audience, we’d be happy to consider it.

We also welcome reprints as long as you hold the copyright, however, no attribution is offered though you are welcome to include a credit to the original publisher in your bio.

Your piece can be scary, sullen, emotive, freaky, elegant, bizarre, have a dark-humor twist to it, or be flat out creepy as hell!

The basic rules:

  • Write the piece well.
  • It must be primarily horror/dark fiction oriented
  • No pieces containing coronavirus/covid-19 references will be accepted.
  • Don’t break our set-in-stone taboos – NO pedophilia, NO bestiality, and NO descriptive rape scenarios.

Be creative, be morbid, be vicious and show us what you’ve got. If it fits our criteria, we’ll offer it up to our readership of about 35,000!


REPRINTS ARE WELCOME!

Submission Deadline: August 31, 2020

Circulation: Approximately 35,000

Short story word count: 1,000 – 2,500 (limit of one submission per author)
Long flash fiction word count: 500 – 999 (limit of one submission per author)
Short flash fiction word count: 200 – 499 (limit of three submissions per author)
Micro fiction word count: 50 – 99 (limit of three submissions per author)
Drabbles: 100 word prose (limit of five submissions per author)
Poem length: 10 – 50 lines (limit of five subs per author)

Reprints are welcome as long as you currently hold the copyright.

Full page/single book cover ads for individual authors are available at $10 per ad.
Publisher/community/multi-book full page ads are available at $25 per ad.
Please contact Nina@SirensCallPublications.com for advertising information.

All story, flash, and poem submissions MUST be submitted to:
Submissions@SirensCallPublications.com for consideration.

Please visit our web site for further details: www.SirensCallPub.com

Posted in Dark Fiction, Fear, flash fiction, Horror, Sirens Call Publications, The Sirens Call eZine | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_JULY_IMGThe Buried
by Asena Lourenco

Sun peeking through the trees,
Autumn falling as leaves of red,
The lampposts waiting impatiently,
For someone to return them from the dead.
Once used as a wedding aisle,
On someone’s special day.
Had now become a cemetery,
Where bodies were left to decay.
The ground remained bumpy,
The leaves not hiding them anymore,
As corpses lay underneath the dirt,
Waiting for someone to come and explore.
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 13 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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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Holli Walker @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_JULY_IMG

The Temple
by Holli Walker

This is it; I have been searching for this temple my whole life. And finally, my team and I are almost at the doorstep. “Aminah!” Called my business partner David “The guides will not go any further. They say we will anger the Gods that are here if we keep going.” He said, his face flushed red from the heat and the aggravation. “Well, at least they lead us to the right path in the woods, at this point I guess we are on our own guys. Thank the god’s for machetes and lamps!” I said cheerfully as my team gathered around. “What if the guides are right? You know people disappear in this forest; they always have.” Said Clarence, the lead of my team, he was an anxious little man, but he was excellent at ferreting out lost treasures.
“Don’t worry, we will stick together. And remember, we are supposed to be here, no harm will come to us. I can feel it, this will be amazing. All right, lamps on! You two with the machete’s get out in front and hack away but remember to stay cautious. “I said as the clearing became illuminated with their lamps, shining off the blades of the machetes, it was blinding.  The guides agreed to wait for us at the mouth of the path, though they would go no further, if we never made it back, they couldn’t get paid.
“Come on, we have a way to go.” I said as we started making our way slowly into the forest. It was slow going, the tree roots and vines had grown up over the path during the centuries since it had been used. We marched for what felt like hours. A few of the team began to grumble, I assured them we were on the right path. I could feel it, pulling me like a string. I have been drawn to the Chimu people my entire life. And finally, I was in Peru, looking for their famed sacrificial temple.
After two days of combing through the forest, we started seeing large boulders on the sides of the path we were on. They gradually got bigger and bigger. Until finally we came to a small clearing, and there it was. The sacrificial temple. A cheer went up through our group. “Just what, exactly are you hoping to find here?” David asked me as we took our backpacks off and sipped from our canteens. “Well, a lot of things, but I would love it if I could find an intact executioners’ knife. Complete with the rattle on the end.” I told him
“A rattle? What are you talking about?” he asked curiously. “Well the knife that the executioner would use for the sacrifice had a bulb on the end, that had seeds in it, so it rattled. Before he sacrificed the victim, he would shake the knife and the rattling would call the specific God to the temple.” I explained, as I talked, I noticed the rest of my team and stopped moving and was listening to me. Okay guys, that’s enough of a break. Let’s look around.”
We started looking around the temple, there was an opening in the middle of two pillars and on either side of the pillars were carvings: covered in vines and vegetation, Part of my team was examining the carvings. As they set about to work, I put on a headlamp and ventured into the temple. “Don’t go in by yourself!” yelled David as I entered the temple. I waved him off, I was supposed to be here. The pulling feeling I had while we were going through the overgrown forest was stronger than ever. It was like it was pulling me into the temple. I looked around the inside of the temple, there were pieces of broken pottery strewed here and there. No jewels as David had hoped, he will be disappointed. I stopped walking and stood still, I had heard something, I don’t know what it was. It was very light but sounded familiar.
Shrugging it off I kept walking deeper into the temple. These hallways went on forever. Eventually I should come to the rooms where the victims were kept until it was their time. Slowly I became aware that I was growing more and more tired. Our walk through the forest had taken more out of me than I thought it did. There was an outcropping of rock to my right. I sat down to rest for a minute.
As I put my head back against the wall and closed my eyes for a minute. I heard that noise again. Only this time it was louder, it was a slow rattle. I drifted off to sleep only to be violently jerked awake by a hand grabbing my arm. They pulled me through the hall, it was so dark, I couldn’t see anything. My head felt fuzzy, like I had drunk too much wine. I saw a light coming in the distance, suddenly there was light all around and I could see!
There were people everywhere in front of me, hundreds of people. I heard a scream to my left, I looked over and there was a man decked out with gold bracelets holding a still beating heart in his hand. He held it up for the crowd to see. They cheered as he showed each section of the crowd the heart. Blood dripped down his arm.
Then I noticed the woman right beside him, blood dripped down her torso, her head was slumped on to her chest, which was split open showing her ribs and other internal organs. Blood kept oozing down her lower torso. Two men came forward and slowly took her down off the podium and carried her carcass back into the temple.
The hand around my arm grew tighter, “Your turn my dear.” As he dragged me to the podium “No, you don’t understand, this is not for me!” I tried to say, but no words would come out. They strapped down my arms as I heard the rattling, it came closer and closer, I saw the glint of the blade in the sun, and then…
I had found my rattle.
Fiction © Copyright Holli Walker
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Holli Walker:

107370194_791741324899305_2488792836852353967_nHolli Walker was born and raised in Indiana. She is a member of the LGBT+ community and loves to write about things that move her.  She has a wonderful son and is close to her family.

Please find more of her work here

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sheikha A. @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_JULY_IMGPhasing
by Sheikha A.

The sun sails in sanguine shadows
on the coast of her lower jaw – land
on the rim of her eyes is a set of twin wells
where her retinas once gleamed like agate
so pristine of clout or blood, visitors
would imagine her the benevolent Gaea
resting on a mass of water like a body
made for beds: for anything that grows,
for everything that grew – bore like fresh
womb. Her veins fester and spray out of
her mouth – showers of salt; the sky rains
through broken hymns – hymens – the star
that makes fire appear like crystals in snow,
its heat so intense, blazes of Hades’ chariot
rip comets into comatose constellations;
that star burns pollen in pistils mid-bloom,
scalds scalps – field-follicles – the green air
meant to sustain; she browns like beauty
meant to entice, her dimples glow as pale
flecks on tanned cheeks. The exotic burns –
thirsty fire – she burns water and lands
and the sky’s ice fall as diamond-tears,
their properties malignant, spreading
as silent gas until the science of it is
abolished, the white pages of invisible
ink, the glyphs on walls dating to ancient
tools, the premonitions that turned to
predictions, and her war-speckled eyes
smiling the sinister truth – their deaths
will be formless; only gradual melting.
Fiction © Copyright Sheikha A.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Sheikha A.:

Screen Shot 2019-12-17 at 10.57.17 AM.pngNyctophiliac Confessions:
Poems by Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee

“The night is cold enough to inspire poetry,” says Sheikha A. in her poem, “Reading My Bones.” This is the basis of Nyctophiliac Confessions – poems that are introspective and luminal, poems that require a certain amount of silence and space to be fully formed and appreciated. Reading these poems, I imagined that they were the kind of poems that assert themselves unbidden during a bout of insomnia. (A nyctophiliac being someone who loves the night or loves darkness).

Nyctophiliac Confessions is the 17th installment of Praxis’ chapbook series and contains twenty-six poems written by two poets, Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee, interspersed with abstract paintings by Robert Rhodes.

Available Here!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Melissa R. Mendelson @melissmendelson @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_JULY_IMG

Absent of Me
by Melissa R. Mendelson

My body has crossed many roads,
but I don’t recognize this one.
Its beauty captivating.
Soft, red petals falling like rain,
but something feels off.
The ground is covered,
and the sky hidden.
I’ve had this dream many times,
finding this strange place,
but I’ve never walked further before.
But I am walking further now.
I can’t turn back.
My body won’t let me.
Its hands leading me down the velvet path,
and I want to turn my head.
My head is no longer mine to turn.
My arms and legs are merely borrowed
until I come to a bench,
where I am forced to sit,
but there is no wait here.
There is nothing here,
and my body lies vacant,
absent of me
as it starts to move again.
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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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Tiffany Michelle Brown @TiffeBrown @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_JULY_IMGMiscreation
by Tiffany Michelle Brown

The last thing you remember is the cloying taste of the cheap ass wine she gave you. It was far too sweet for your liking, but her smile was promising, so you drank. Because you wanted to know what she tasted like—probably cigarette smoke and strong coffee—but you never got the chance to find out.
Your head throbs, and you’re sure it’s a hangover—cheap wine will do that. But then you notice the drumming.
There’s a steady beat striking the air around you—air so thick it feels like the sea. As you concentrate on the rhythm, you realize the drumming is keeping time with your heartbeat.
Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.
You push to a sitting position. You’re no longer in her shitty apartment. There are no threadbare couches here, no thrift store art finds, no scents of mold or air freshener.
You’re sitting on stone in the dark. The air around you is all greenery, moss, dampness. There’s an archway ahead, draped in vines, and beyond it, a cluster of statues sitting sentinel. Staring at you expectantly, as if they know why you are here.
You rise to your feet on unsteady legs and focus on a single stone in the archway, rooting yourself to the ground, finding balance.
Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. 
You’re standing beneath the arch now. You don’t remember climbing stone steps.
Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. 
She’s here now, the girl from the apartment. You can’t remember her name, but her smile is so encouraging and familiar.
Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.
There’s a knife in your hand with a hooked blade and intricate symbols etched into steel. You hold it like it’s precious, important.
Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.
She kisses you and whispers, “See you on the other side, mortal.”
 Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.
She’s chanting now in a tongue you’ve never heard. You feel the pressure of metal at your neck, a slice of pain, and then so much warmth.
Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh. Duh-duh-duh.
And then there’s simply nothing more. The drumming has ceased, the girl is gone, and you’re staring up at a canopy of green-black leaves.
You close your eyes and welcome the darkness.
It’s nice here. It’s soothing. You’re weightless and calm and completely at peace.
But you know you can’t stay here. It’s an in-between place. A passage. A moment. You’ll need to leave.
Eventually, you’ll find the courage to open your eyes again—and you wonder who and what and when and how you’ll be.

 

Fiction © Copyright Tiffany Michelle Brown
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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