Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Christina Sng @ChristinaSng @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


DEC_IMG_04One Christmas Eve
by Christina Sng

One Christmas Eve,
I curl up in a dark corner
By the decorated tree,
Determined to see Santa
For the very first time.
At midnight, I hear it,
Someone climbing
Down the chimney,
Muttering something
About chilean cookies.
It isn’t a jolly old man
In furry red suit
But a demon fatted
By far too many cookies
Stuck in its sharp teeth.
It has been feeding tonight,
Pretending to be Santa,
Hopefully leaving gifts,
Leaving me to wonder
Where the real guy is.
The demon looks right
At me and blinks, sighing,
“Ah, no curious children
To eat here tonight.
I’ll just take the cookie.”
And it is up and out
Through the chimney
Before I can duck,
And no, it leaves not
A single present for us.
I stay petrified
Till the family wakes up
And Mom finds me
Shivering
In my hiding spot.
She holds me close,
Nuzzling my fur
While I purr at her,
Mewling softly,
Safe in her arms.
Fiction © Copyright Christina Sng
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Christina Sng:

A Collection of Nightmares

Hold your screams and enter a world of seasonal creatures, dreams of bones, and confessions modeled from open eyes and endless insomnia. Christina Sng’s A Collection of Nightmares is a poetic feast of sleeplessness and shadows, an exquisite exhibition of fear and things better left unsaid. Here are ramblings at the end of the world and a path that leads to a thousand paper cuts at the hands of a skin carver. There are crawlspace whispers, and fresh sheets gently washed with sacrifice and poison, and if you’re careful in this ghost month, these poems will call upon the succubus to tend to your flesh wounds and scars.
These nightmares are sweeping fantasies that electrocute the senses as much as they dull the ache of loneliness by showing you what’s hiding under your bed, in the back of your closet, and inside your head. Sng’s poems dissect and flower, her autopsies are delicate blooms dressed with blood and syntax. Her words are charcoal and cotton, safe yet dressed in an executioner’s garb.
Dream carefully.
You’ve already made your bed.
The nightmares you have now will not be kind.
And you have no one to blame but yourself.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Bailey Hunter @DarkRecesses @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DEC_IMG_03

Leave a Light On
by Bailey Hunter

“You should know. It’s tradition,” my sister Elise muttered under her breath.
“I can’t believe you forgot,” my brother Jonah said, scowling at me.
My other brother Davis just stared right through me with cold eyes that reflected the lights off the tree.
“It’s not my fault,” I hiss back. “What were you thinking giving the responsibility to me anyway?” 
Seriously though, how was I to know that not putting the candle lantern in the window for our ancestors this Christmas was going to be such a big deal?  I mean, it’s not like I forgot on purpose or anything. It’s the 21st century for chrissakes. Who does that kind of thing anymore, anyway? 
Apparently WE do.  Or at least we’re supposed to. Meaning I was supposed to…
I did eventually light the candle, but it was too little, too late. Over a half dozen long deceased relatives have broken into the house. They took out mom and dad first. Davis bit it next trying to save them while screaming at me for being an idiot, until they ripped out his throat, that is.  The house is decorated in blood splatter. The hearth is draped in a shiny, slick bough of their intestines.  
The worst part— aside from the whole ancestors descending upon us in a mindless killing horde thing— is that now my mom, dad, and my brother Davis will become one of them, and they’re inside the house.  I really don’t want to kill them twice. I don’t even know if we can kill them once they turn to be honest.
My remaining siblings are really pissed off at me, but we’re working together.  It helps that they can’t yell at me right now without giving away our position. All we gotta do is make it to Christmas morning and not be torn open like the presents under the tree. If we make it, it’s going to be the best and the worst Christmas ever. 
Other families may not like having extended family over for the holiday, but they’ve got nothing on us.
Fiction © Copyright Bailey Hunter
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More from Bailey Hunter:
Bailey is a publisher with Dark Recesses Press.

DeadWomenInLoveCover_FrontDead Women in Love

Harvey Drago, Intangible Private Eye, is back in DEAD WOMEN IN LOVE.

Join him as he investigates the brutal death of a history professor, as well as the disappearances of several ladies of the evening. Both cases turn out to be related to the mysterious human-shaped piles of ashes being left around Nashville, and the decades-old theft of priceless Egyptian relics, including the mummy of a nefarious pharaoh. Supernatural Investigations Bureau agent Amy Marten weaves a seductive spell over our hero, as does the oddly rejuvenated Pam, his long-time occasional paramour. Is it his body they’re after, or his heart? Maybe his soul? Or is it something even more intimate than that?

 

DarkRecessesPress.com

 
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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sheri White @sheriw1965 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DEC_IMG_02Let it Snow
by Sheri White
“Hey, neighbor!”
George looked over at his next-door townhouse neighbor who was shoveling snow off his steps.
“Oh, hello…um… I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name. I’m so embarrassed.”
“You know, it’s weird—I can’t recall your name either.” He shrugged and chuckled. “Anyway, I’m Alan.”
“I’m George. Nice to meet you, I guess?” He grabbed a broom leaning against the stair rail and swept snow off his porch. “That’s odd, Alan—you have a lot more snow than I do, and our porches are only several feet apart.”
Before Alan could answer, an older woman walked her little yappy dog in front of them. The dog barked at the men, baring its teeth. “Hercules, hush!” The men snickered at the mention of the dog’s name. “I’m sorry, gentlemen.”
“No worries, ma’am,” George said. “I’m sure he’s just protecting you.”
“Isn’t this glorious?” The woman turned her face up to the falling snow and stuck out her tongue like a little girl. “Ugh!” She coughed, bending over and spitting on the sidewalk.
Alan and George rushed over to her. “Ma’am, are you okay?” George asked.
She coughed again but nodded her head. “I’m Bess.” Another cough. “I’m fine. It’s just that the snow tastes nasty. Feels weird too. Like pellets. Don’t you feel it?”
Alan held his hand out and watched snowflakes bounce off and hit the ground. “Has this happened before? I can’t remember if this is normal or not.”
“It’s not even that cold, is it? I mean, we’re not wearing coats or gloves, yet I feel fine. Don’t you?”
The three of them stood there, hands out, watching the snow bounce. Hercules yipped and yapped around them. Doors opened and closed nearby as other neighbors joined them outside. They looked at each other in bewilderment, somehow strangers to each other although they shared a neighborhood.
Suddenly the ground under their feet rumbled and swayed.
“Earthquake!” some of them screamed. They tried to run, but the shaking got rougher. The snow flew furiously through the air, pelting their skin as they fell to the ground. Bess cried, helpless, unable to keep hold of her dog’s leash. Hercules slid down the sidewalk, yelping and howling.
Then the swaying stopped and a hush fell over the neighborhood.
***
“Hi, Daddy! I’m glad you’re home. I love our new Christmas decoration!”
“Anna, get back inside. It’s freezing out here. Mom has dinner waiting; she just texted me.”
“Okay, but watch this first.” She grabbed the Victorian streetlamp by the pole and shook it back and forth.
“Anna, no! Don’t do that again; it will break. Let’s go get dinner.”
“Okay. But look at the little people inside, Daddy—they look like they’re screaming!”
Fiction © Copyright Sheri White
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Sheri White:

When the Clock Strikes 13

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

Available on Amazon!

 

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Stacey Turner @Spot_Speaks @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DEC_IMG_01

The Encounter
by Stacey Turner

Katya stared at the strange altar she’d found when she walked into her bleak hotel room. A black skull sat upon the table, surrounded by tea lights. She’d barely dropped her keys and purse on the bed, when the lights flickered and went out. The tea lights lit by themselves, one by one, counterclockwise, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She’d had dealings with black magic once or twice or maybe a half dozen times—if she were honest, which she didn’t make a habit of—and it had always left her burned. She began to back slowly towards the door. A faint chuckle from the darkness made her abandon caution, and she was at the door in seconds, but a so was he. A large, masculine form blocked her exit. She couldn’t see his face, but the slight whiff of Sulphur gave his identity away.
“Why have you come, Marcelle?”
“Why do I ever come, Katya? You know the one I seek. Where is your friend?” His voice rumbled as though from a great distance away, but was edged in steel.
“Petra is no friend of mine,” she said, daring to stare at his glowing green eyes, the only thing she could see in the dark.
He chuckled again, as though amused by her protestation. “No friend, perhaps, but family. The witch is your niece, no?”
“No.” She spat through her fingers, a gesture to ward off evil. “She was born of my brother’s seed, but she is átkozott, as you well know. She is the reason I have wandered this earth for centuries, cursed too.”
Marcelle gazed at her, waves of anger and hatred roiling off him, the heat scalding. “Do not speak to me of curses, Vámpír. I wandered the earth and hell long before you were born, longer before you were turned. And I will continue to do so until Petra is ended. She cannot play her games forever.”
Katya shrugged. “I think you underestimate your prey, Demon.”
He snarled, but must have accepted her words, because in a gust of hot air, he was gone. The tea lights extinguished, whether by magic or from the wind, Katya didn’t know. She flipped the light switch and her hotel room appeared the same as it always did—depressing.
She shook her head, sitting down on the bed. With a sigh, she dropped her head into her hands, cursed in her native Hungarian, and made a decision. It was time to return to Pine Haven.
Fiction © Copyright Stacey Turner
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela

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More from author Stacey Turner:

sthl

Stalking Hazel: A Pine Haven Novella

What happens when a naive mermaid decides to leave her underwater paradise to live on the land?

Hazel was the first in her clan to forsake the ocean in favor of land. She thought Pine Haven, a town founded for paranormals to live in safety, would be the perfect place. But her involvement with one of the town’s two human residents raises eyebrows and suspicion.

Why is her nosy neighbor, Leo, keeping tabs on her? And why does he look so darn good in those tight clothes?

When Hazel finds herself in trouble she learns who really cares about her and how powerful accepting your true nature can be.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Terrie Leigh Relf @TLRelf @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DEC_IMG_04The Happiest Time of the Year
by Krampus

Winter came early that year. While even the snow-encrusted fir trees seemed to sigh with dismay, the people of Ridgeway took it upon themselves to think on the positive side, and began decorating in earnest.  The scent of hot spiced cider, rich cocoa, and ginger bread wafted through the streets amid the sound of Old Mr. Rogers’ snowplow. After all, wasn’t Christmas supposed to be the happiest time of the year? For some folk, perhaps.
That was also the year Rideway’s children discovered Santa wasn’t real.  How could he be? There was supposed to be just one Santa, but Sheriff McDonough and his team discovered over a dozen in the woods, buried up to their necks in the snow with just their right arms and hands free, as if waving to us all. Their heads and beards were wound ’round with colored blinking lights, their cheeks rosy with frostbite—but that wasn’t all . . .
Rather than overflowing with toys, fruit, and candy, Santa’s bags were stuffed with packages wrapped in butcher paper and string.  There were bright-colored stickers on the packages, though. Among the usual “Don’t Open Until Christmas,” “Happy Holidays,” and “No Peeking!” stickers, were ones with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and wreaths with holly berries. 
When Sheriff McDonough opened the first package with gloved hands, he gagged, then leaned over and hurled into the snow. A few of his men peered down at the contents, their swarthy skin paling.  
I really think I outdid myself that year . . . but after all, I had been so good for so long, that it was time I indulged myself again.
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 from the Alban Lake Store!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Angela Yuriko Smith @AngelaYSmith @Sotet_Angyal #LoH

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DEC_IMG_03

Resolution
by Angela Yuriko Smith

The sins
of the last year
I will burn in this flame.
I have set the altar
and the sacrifice waits
—a sufficient supplicant.
My scapegoat, I fold my
sins along with the flock’s
layering all my misdeeds
invisible among the rest
hiding my secrets under
confessions and hope.
I peel away layers of sin
to burn in the flame. Every
pop and sizzle an accusation
for my ears only. I make promise
to be better, holy, pure. I promise
myself and the soft brunette in the
first row that I will not succumb again.
I make promises, and the congregation
and I wash in salt tears and blood and
are renewed. The sacrifice made, new
year resolutions and promises in place
we move forward with good intentions
and pave the road to hell. “This year I
will be better,” I say again, as I follow
next year’s scapegoat out the door.

 

Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

The Bitter Suites

Book a stay at the Bitter Suites, a hotel that specializes in renewable death experiences. Whether you schedule your demise as therapy, to bond with a loved one or for pure recreation, your death is sure to give you a new lease on life. Renewable death is always beneficial… at least to someone.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kim Richards @Kim_Richards @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DEC_IMG_02Snowflakes
by Kim Richards

“Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings,” the child on the television screen proclaimed in a sweet little voice.
Janelle rolled her eyes. “What a crock,” she told her terrier.
The dog lifted his head from his spot on the opposite end of the couch and stared at her. His little scruffy tail wagged a couple of times. She paid him no mind so he let out a sigh and returned to napping.
Janelle grumbled and grabbed the remote control. She only watched the movie because Max hated it. Right now she wanted to eat every food he disliked, go places he avoided, and see every movie he turned off.
“Stupid liar,” she mumbled as she channel surfed.
She stumbled on a movie about a Christmas demon. Krampus or some such demon with horns and cloven hooves for feet. He wore a similar suit to Santa Claus but his face was gnarled and his eyes green with anger.
“This might be interesting,” she told the dog and filled her wine glass from the bottle on the side table near her.
As the movie progressed, various characters perished to the demon and his band of murderous elves. By the end, the late hour and wine made her drowsy. As she drifted off to sleep, her last thought was to wish she could convince this demon to visit Max.
***
Christmas morning, Janelle woke to her dog at the front door growling and barking furiously.
“Calm down,” she told Scruffy.
It took her a few minutes to get him to relax and come away from the door. Then she went to open it in case that last package she ordered online ever showed up. She knew it was a slim chance on Christmas Day but looked anyway.
A squat rectangular box indeed sat on the doormat outside. It was addressed to her but with no store markings or name of who sent it to her. She shrugged and took it inside.
After opening it and scooping out red shredded paper packaging, she found a holiday decoration inside. Grasping it by the handle on top, Janelle lifted the red lantern up and peered closely. The inside was like a snow globe in that a little village scene and snow covered trees were inside. There were thousands of little white balls simulating snow. When she jiggled it, the balls tossed around and floated down to settle on the bottom.
She set the lantern aside and pulled out a square greeting card from inside the box. She tore open the envelope and pulled out the card. The picture on the front matched the inside of the lantern but was the photo of a real place.
Janelle opened the card and read: Merry Christmas! May all your dreams come true. Say the words and it shall come to you.
Just then her phone rang. She picked it up and realized the caller was Max. “Liar! I wish you would just die.” She said and then slammed the phone down.
From her peripheral vision, she realized there was movement in the lantern. Her dog jumped on her leg and growled so she waved him away.
Janelle stared up close inside the lantern snow scene. She pressed her nose against the glass and watched the little snowflakes fall. One of them spun around and bumped the glass near her nose. It had a face on it. Max’s screaming head drifted away until it was lost in the other flakes.
Janelle laughed and gave the lantern a special place in the middle of her dining room table. She would enjoy it for years to come.
Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DEC_IMG_01affirmation
by Sheikha A.

blue flames gridlocked –
dragons birth – in a cove
of fountain and large trees,
he keeps her bare
like the skin of avenged
thorns, the flames have
aligned to the blast of
a howling galaxy
it is time to bring her alive –
many lovers – but one with
release; she slakes his jaw,
a mutable corpse
organs banish his veins,
creepers coil his residue,
her love intense like heat
in a dragon’s egg –
birth is without labour,
she pecks on their shells
the way his teeth fall,
outside is a glow-burst
tower; the candles crawl to
him – ghost lovers – charmed
pendulums dangling over his
body, his skull watches
her slithering to him, agile
like amiable trail of fire, she
of many concubines, his room
of dragons, nymph fork-
tails; their eyes wild berries,
blue streams on smoke-
limbs – the way he comes alight –
they watch as she mounts
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 Lori Safranek @SafranekLori @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DEC_IMG_04

Twinkle Twinkle
by Lori Safranek

Twinkle, twinkle, Mr. Graham said to himself, standing outside his neighbors’ house. Little lights flickering among the snow-covered branches. Santa Claus perched up on the rooftop. A nativity scene graced the lawn in front of the big picture window.
Sickening. He shook his head at the mawkish mess. His neighbors tried his patience every winter with all the childish decorations he was forced to look at from his house on the corner. He’d move, but it seems people everywhere have adopted this infantile habit of festooning their homes with lights and pretending it’s all about a sweet babe’s birth.
He snorted and kept walking. His nightly walk around the block gave him some fresh air but, unfortunately, it also offered a look at his neighbors’ idea of Christmas cheer. A reindeer was peeing off the roof of the McKellen’s house. I’m sure Jesus would be pleased, you idiots, he muttered.
His left foot slid sideways, and he nearly fell. Luckily, even at his advanced age, Mr. Graham was spry. Ugh, what a horrible word. More elegantly, he had kept his figure trim and agile. Much better.
He righted himself and made to move on. Another step and he felt a tug on his ankle. Caught off guard, he fell flat on his back on the sidewalk. Gingerly, he rose to his knees and then stood. Each of his seventy-year-old bones hurt.
Something was wrapped around his ankle. Probably one of those vile plastic bags people insisted on using for their groceries. He bent forward to release his ankle from its binds, but found no plastic bag. A length of electric lights had become tangled around his ankle.
He tsked loudly, wishing the owner were out here to receive the tongue-lashing poised on the tip of Mr. Graham’s tongue. He touched the string of lights and felt a mild sting.  So, the lights were not only gaudy, but also dangerous. Hopefully fire wouldn’t envelop the entire neighborhood tonight. Then again, at least there’d be no more Christmas décor.
The string of lights tightened around his ankle, but that was impossible. His first pang of real fear took him over when he looked down at his foot again. The lights had now wrapped three times around his ankle, and he couldn’t see the end so he could remove it from his leg.
He grasped the cord again and a jolt of electricity sent him reeling backwards. He felt another pull on his ankle and quick as anything, he was on the ground again. This time, though, he smacked his head on the concrete sidewalk. He saw stars for a minute.
The stars cleared and he was being pulled toward the bushes by the cord around his leg. He anxiously pulled at the cord, trying to get loose, but it held firm and it shocked him again. He dug his fingers into the grass around the bushes, but the lights pulled him further into the bushes. Another shock convulsed his body.
When he recovered from the electrical shock, he was completely under the hedge. He tried shouting for help, but a cord was now wrapped around his elderly throat. Tightening and tightening, it gradually choked Mr. Graham to death. The cords slid from around his various body parts and back onto bushes and up on the edge of the roof.
The wind blew across Santa on the roof and his bells stirred up a tune. Baby Jesus slept soundly and all was quiet.
Fiction © Copyright Lori Safranek
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Lori Safrenek:

lorisafranek_freakedoutFreaked Out: The Complete Freak Show Series

Freak Show is a collection of short stories based on the adventures of performers from Steiners Freak Show, a traveling circus side show. Steiner carefully selects his freaks so that they are genuinely blessed with real talents, none of his performers are fakes! From the lovely young Snake Charmer to the Tattooed Man whose tattoos fade away and relocate themselves on his body, every single one is the real thing! And Steiner’s family of freaks run into some frightening adventures that bring them near death! This isn’t some barker’s come on, folks, this is the real thing. Come to the freak show and see what happens after the sideshow closes!

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DEC_IMG_03

Girl of Glass, Girl of Fire
by Naching T. Kassa

There are monsters in the world. Some are human. Some are not. Frieda knew both and feared only one.
She lay beneath the warm quilt, clutching her doll. The soft murmur of voices, rent by the occasional laugh, drifted up from downstairs.
Nearby, a lantern sat upon the nightstand. The small flame danced within, flickering over the snowflakes which had been carved into the glass, and casting their shadows on the wall. Frieda basked in the amber glow and her thoughts turned toward Anna, her best friend.
Anna had been a maid for Uncle Hans and Aunt Maria ever since Frieda had come to live with the couple. Kind and gentle, the older girl had seemed more like a sister than a servant. It was she who comforted Frieda in the darker hours of the night. She who had given her the lantern.
“I thought your family didn’t celebrate Christmas,” Frieda had said while unwrapping the present.
“We don’t. But you do. Do you like it?”
“I love it. Are these snowflakes? They look like the star on your arm.”
Anna glanced at the armband she wore. “They do, don’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Then you will find great protection in them. They and the lantern will stave off the darkness and keep the dark creatures at bay. However, if anyone asks, say they are snowflakes.”
“I will.”
“And, then there’s this.” 
Anna handed her a gray ball.
“What is this? Clay?”
“It is more than clay. It’s a protector.”
“How can it protect me?”
“You shape it into the form of something which can protect you. Like a dog. Or a tiger.”
“What about a great beast with huge claws and a face like a dragon?”
Anna laughed. “It can be whatever you wish. Let it dry. It will keep the monsters away.”
“If I want it to…will it attack them?” She stared at Anna. The weight of her words lay heavy between them.
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Anna.”
The older girl smiled. “You are welcome, little one.”
Frieda’s doll fell from her grasp and on to the floor, waking her from the memory which had become a dream. It rolled beneath the bed.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. Anna was right about the lantern. It did keep the darklings away. But not all monsters feared its light.
The knob turned and a man entered.
Uncle Max stood six-feet-tall with white-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Silver accented his black uniform. It gleamed in the lantern light. This evening, for the Christmas party, he wore a red and white armband with a swastika emblazoned on it. A crystal glass filled his hand. The skull above the brim of his hat grinned. 
“Frieda, you are not sleeping,” he said, as he approached the bed.
“I’m waiting for Anna. Has she come back yet?”
Max settled into the chair near the bed, the one Anna always took when she read Frieda stories.
“She will not be back today. But do not worry. I will tell you a story instead.”
Frieda cringed.
“It’s about bad little girls. Do you know what happens to bad girls?”
Max turned his red-rimmed eyes on Frieda. His breath smelled of sour peaches. She shrank back into the blankets, wishing she could plug her ears.
“I deal with bad girls all day. They come from the bad people, the ones who wear stars.”
Frieda sighed. In all of Max’s stories, the bad people wore stars.
“Some girls are fragile like glass,” he continued. “Like sheep, they do what they’re told. Others have fire in their veins. They are wild and hard to break. I know of one such girl. A bad girl with bad thoughts in her pretty head. Let’s call her…Anna.”
The heat drained from Frieda’s heart and an icy chill filled it. She rose up on one elbow.
“Anna was a wicked girl. So smug. She thought herself superior to everyone, even me. I knew how to break her though. I sent her parents to a work camp, promising their safe return if she would be…nice to me. She agreed.”
He shifted in the chair and almost fell out of it.
“They are dirty, those bad girls. We are not supposed to touch them. And, yet, I could not keep away. After she shared her delights, she would ask after her parents. She did not know what had happened to them.” He looked up into Frieda’s eyes. “Do you know what happens in the work camps, Frieda? What really happens?”
The next words spoken, spun nightmares in Frieda’s mind. Her heart pounded hard in her ears but did not drown out his voice.
When he finished, tears stood in her eyes. 
“I waited for years to break Anna. To build her hopes and then dash them. I would have kept her longer if they hadn’t made me send her away. You should have seen her face when I told her how her parents died and how long they’d been dead.”
He laughed.
“Where is she?” Frieda cried. “Where is Anna?”
“The train took her to the workcamp this afternoon. This is what happens to bad girls.”
Tears trickled down Frieda’s face.
“Are you a bad girl, Frieda?”
Frieda didn’t answer. The tears scalded her cheeks.
“I think you are,” Max said. “But…are you a girl of glass? Or a girl of fire?”
As though waiting for the speaking of these words, the doll stepped from beneath the bed. Its grotesque form grew before their eyes, and its claws raked the wooden floorboards as it advanced. A scaly, gray head weaved back and forth.
Max fell from the chair as the beast sat poised above him.
Frieda rose to her feet. 
“I am a girl of fire,” she said.
Flame licked the beast’s lips.
Max shrieked.
Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from Naching T. Kassa:

image (10)Kill Switch

As technology takes over more of our lives, what will it mean to be human, and will we fear what we’ve created? What horrors will our technological hubris bring us in the future? Join us as we walk the line between progressive convenience and the nightmares these advancements can breed. From faulty medical nanos and AI gone berserk to ghost-attracting audio-tech and one very ambitious Mow-Bot, we bring you tech horror that will keep you up at night. Will you reach the Kill Switch in time? Edited by Dan Shaurette and Emerian Rich, with authors Chantal Boudreau, Garth von Buchholz, Bill Davidson, Jerry J. Davis, Dana Hammer, Laurel Anne Hill, Naching T. Kassa, Tim O’Neal, H.E. Roulo, Garrett Rowlan, Phillip T. Stephens, and Daphne Strasert.

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