The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lee Mitchell @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Heart Enigma 
by Lee Mitchell  

All had been quiet, offering no indication as to when the anonymous guest had left the four-piece, heart-shaped jigsaw puzzle behind. It sat along the side of the timber pile, where Cindy could spot it as soon as she exited the cottage. The wooden gift had obviously been placed with care, but with no note nor any other evidence that anyone had been on the property.

The puzzle, carved out of cedar and pine, was about the size of Cindy’s palm. Each flat block had been perfectly cut, with a circular indentation on one side and a matching protrusion on the other. The shapes came together to form an interlocking pattern, alternating in light and dark wood, each piece unique while both emulating and opposing its neighbors.

The young woman lifted the puzzle from its spot, keeping the pieces together to admire the work. Mark was a master woodworker, so it only made sense that this was his doing. And the message seemed clear: My heart is broken.

Cindy ran her fingers along the sanded edges with an ache in her own heart. She grieved, too, but their breakup had been for the best. Mark would eventually come to see that. He, too, would come to understand that sometimes two people could love one another more than life itself, but that still didn’t mean that they were compatible. The couple had been a beautiful mistake—too intense to give up without a fight, but too flawed to last forever.

Cindy slid one of the jigsaw pieces out of place to take a closer look. As she did so, an electric sensation radiated from her chest, seizing her body and thrusting the air from her lungs. She tried to take another breath, but it was as though something had knocked the wind out of her.

Limbs taut, body convulsing, Cindy dropped the puzzle and crumpled to the ground. The world transformed, or so it would seem, as the confused young woman watched everything around her expand to fifty times their original size. Her body remained frozen in spasm, or so she assumed—until a giant version of Mark thundered up to her, kneeled down to pick her up, and then carefully slid her into the open puzzle spot.

“Forever, my love,” said the giant, and then he dropped Cindy and the rest of the heart-shaped puzzle into his shirt pocket and gave it a gentle pat.

.

Fiction © Copyright Lee Mitchell.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Lee Mitchell:

LeeMitchell_TheDivineDarknessAlisha Brown led a mundane life until the day monsters started trying to kill her and random strangers began to shy away from her in awe.

All hell broke loose, quite literally, after Randy Thomas turned right on Main for Honey’s instead of making a left for home and then murdered his beloved wife in an unusually gruesome way. Escaping police and stopping traffic in New York City with a gas-spewing tentacle erupting from his mouth, his fears are confirmed: That one small backslide would serve as the final tipping point for all mankind, inviting in a timeless destructive force that would lead him to the frontlines of the war to end all wars.

A growing population has succumbed to their worst fears, some transforming into dreaded fictional monsters—leaving the streets flooded with vampires, werewolves, spontaneously combusting humans, and other horrors—while others have become angels and demons determined to fight in the holy war they believe is upon them.

Questions soon arise as Randy’s and Alisha’s roles in this bizarre apocalypse become uncertain. One is a professed sinner, the other an asexual virgin. Each has been touched by the hand of fate, and each believes they are humanity’s last hope. But belief can be a funny thing…

The Divine Darkness is the first installment of The Divine Darkness apocalyptic horror trilogy.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

What the Sea Wears    
by Kathleen McCluskey 

The waves licked the shore with a rhythmic hush, like the sea was whispering secrets too old for the land to remember. It was the kind of sunset people pay to see, warm, drowning in orange, casting long shadows across the sand.

Claire stood ankle deep in the surf, camera phone raised, watching her son dance through the shallows. He laughed, arms outstretched like wings. He always did this at the beach.

She snapped a picture just as he ran farther out. “Toby, not too far.”

He didn’t answer.

Claire shaded her eyes. Another silhouette stood just ahead of him. A child, unmoving, half-submerged, featureless in the dying light. She blinked hard, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It wasn’t there before.

The new figure held out its hand.

Toby took it.

“No!”

Claire crashed into the surf, heart hammering. Her legs were clumsy against the pull of the tide. The silhouettes vanished beneath the water without a splash. She dove, clawing at the water, choking on salt and panic.

The sea was empty, the children were gone. The sun dipped lower, almost touching the horizon.

Then. Movement.

A figure stumbled from the surf. Small. Slumped.

“Toby!” She gasped, rushing to her son.

He collapsed onto the sand coughing up seawater. Claire dropped to her knees and gathered him in her arms. But something was wrong. His body was too limp. Too cold. Too soft. His skin, always warm and sun-kissed now felt waxy, as if left too long in water. His chest rose and fell…barely.

“Toby?” She whispered.

His head lolled back. His face smiled. But it wasn’t with Toby’s smile. The eyes were empty.

Too round. The lids didn’t blink.

The skin on his cheek had slipped. Claire gasped as a flap of it peeled slightly, exposing something beneath. Not blood. Not bone. Something grey, ridged, glistening with brine. Like something that never belonged in human shape was trying to wear one. She stared in mute horror. The thing that looked like Toby raised a trembling hand and touched her cheek.

“Mom,” it said in a perfect imitation of Toby’s voice. “Don’t cry.”

She wanted to scream. To run. But her limbs refused. Her body felt submerged in syrup, her thoughts muffled.

The sun dipped below the horizon and the sea offered a gift.

A second form floated onto the beach, gently rocked by the tide. Bloated. Torn. A headless, hollow cavity where the torso had been skinned. Claire stared, her mouth hanging open. No sound came, just a single tear rolled lazily down her cheek.

Whatever wore Toby leaned into her embrace and looked up at her. Her skin prickled and crawled. She looked down.

“I came back for you…mom.”

A seam split beneath the jaws, revealing a sliver of wet meat and teeth. Too many teeth, shifting beneath the human mask. Its breath was foul, like rotting seaweed and copper. Still, her arms didn’t release it. Its fingers intertwined with hers. Her mind reeled but her body obeyed the illusion. Somewhere deep inside, the real Claire screamed.

The creature stood.

So did she.

Hand in hand they walked toward the water. Behind them the corpse of her real son rolled lifeless in the foam. The tide rose. The sky was black and the sea sang them home.

.

Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Kathleen McCluskey:

The Long Fall: Book 1: The Inception of Horror

Lucifer always cunning and intelligent challenges father to a battle of wits. Being the angel of light he casts a judgemental eye upon mankind. He begins a war with his fellow archangels and God. Michael, along with his siblings defend their home and mankind from their deranged brother. Broad swords and hand to hand combat drench heaven in blood. The four apocalyptic steeds are released, each having their own destructive power. Betrayal and lust are at biblical levels. Understand the very creation of evil and the consequenses that transpire in the first of THE LONG FALL series.

Available on Amazon!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Gone But Not Forgotten  
by Marge Simon

She’s a big girl now, well past middle age. Her hair has gone white and her joints creak, frown lines trace her sagging face. She forgets if last year’s apple was better

than this year’s, especially when it comes on a tray with little cups of multicolored pills that a man in white delivers to her room.

Still, she remembers her dolls, gifts from father and her brothers from their travels far abroad: Little Hans Brinker with his silver skates, Golden braided Heidi from the Alps and Emmy Lou from England, with eyes as blue as hers, but only for display. But her favorite was the Russianmatryoshka doll that opened up to come apart with children, diminishing in size.

“Someone took them all away!” she cries. The man in the white coat shakes his head. “Selfish old bitch,” he mutters as he leaves, “you set fire to the house while your brothers slept, for your father left you nothing in his will and nothing’s just what you deserve.”

But she isn’t listening. She still has the matryoshka doll, which she’d tucked in her pocket before lighting the gas-soaked living room. Every day, she takes the dolly’s children out and puts them back together. They are the only things in her world that make any sense.

Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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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!

The Worst of Prophets
by Angela Yuriko Smith

The best prophets are the ones no one likes. They have no friends, They stand alone and endure the taunts, the teases, the stones. They shout their messages from street corners, wearing madness and unwashed denim, robes with dusty hems, foil hats. They are often silenced with drugs and fists, institutionalized and ostracized. Still, they shout warnings, plead us to take heed, beware, beware and beware… they drink spit and eat shit for their reward. Those are the best prophets.

I am a bad prophet. The worst. I have chosen comfort and love, friends and family over nurses and lithium. I learned to keep silent, to codify my language and hide my dreams in poetry, to claim the nightmares as fiction instead of prediction, to pretend everything was going to be okay. I whispered my warnings, polite and demure, a coward afraid of going back to who I was, mad in dirty denim, forced medication and silence, silence and silence… I should have, could have been louder. I am the worst prophet.

Do I still have time?

Would you believe me now or

Do I stay silent?

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

Angela Yuriko Smith is a third-generation Ryukyuan-American, award-winning poet, author, and publisher with 20+ years in newspapers. Publisher of Space and Time magazine (est. 1966), two-time Bram Stoker Awards® Winner, and HWA Mentor of the Year, she shares Authortunities, a free weekly calendar of author opportunities at authortunities.substack.com.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Amanda Worthington @AmandaW58679588 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

And the Drowning Will Be the Easy Part
by Amanda Worthington

It was love at first speak

Your bright words filling me in

Like I was born just an outline

And you had come to give me

Light, dimension, meaning

Chaos and drive define purpose, I decide

And the pressure with which you shade me in

Is just right

Precise and practiced in a way that shows me

You’ve learned the wrong way to proceed

And have risen above the carelessness of immaturity

I wish I could say the same

The least I can do is let you teach me.

Then one day I can no longer feel what makes me me

So skilled are you at your craft

I only look like some new iteration of you

But darker

Not quite daring to say what we mean to

Afraid of making some mistake we can’t take back

We languish.

And how long do we sit like that?

The coarse wood of our solitary souls made smooth

Imbued with the spirit of the infinite

Uncertain in the quantum silence

That leaves us tongue-tied

Not because we have nothing to say

But because we’re not sure how to let it out gradually

Words are like water that way

Life-giving

Life-taking

The utterance of the cosmic

Come to fill in the void

Until it no longer recognizes the sound

Of its own echoes

The words can drown us if we aren’t careful

They must be released…

Slowly

With great knowing of the power they wield

But I have lost the ability to be careful

If this is the end

Then at least I know I still have

Some molecule of self

Left to get angry

It is my only solace

As the waters rise.

.

.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alex Grehy @indigodreamers @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Sacrifice  
by Alex Grehy

When I was young I was a hero, holding the sun

aloft with my upraised arms, my fingertips barely

feeling its pressure. The old ones applauded on

the shore, praising my fortitude with joyous psalms,

then left me to it.

I rejoiced, prideful, certain my strength would save the world.

Time passed and the sun weighed heavier each

year, crushing my arms, tumbling onto my head,

scorching my thoughts. I begged the old ones for

support but they just scorned my weakness,

then left me to it.

I was shamed by my frailty, feared the consequences of my failure.

The sun is setting, and I am on my knees in the

rising sea, back straining to hold our destruction

at bay. I scream unheard. The old ones sit in the

gloaming, their orchestra of murmurs whining a

symphony of blame. The refrain? “Our hero let us down!”

yet still they leave me to it.

The sun burns through my resistance, sizzles into the ocean,

extinguishes my last dream, had we all been heroes,

could our fate have been different? 

.

Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

Last Species Standing

Alex Grehy (she/her) enjoys writing quirky, thought-provoking horror and is a regular contributor to The Sirens Call and Ladies of Horror Flash Project. Her fiction and essays on being a lady of horror have featured in a range of publications, including Spread: Tales of Deadly Flora. Alex’s first poetry collection, Last Species Standing, which explores mankind’s relationship with nature and technology, is available on Amazon.

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!

Locked In  
by Ela Lourenco

Inanimate, frozen, cursed into stasis

Punished by those drowning in ignorance

Cowards fearing knowledge

Drowning in their petty power plays

Locked in, forever doomed to watch

But never again able to revolt,

To protest, to fight for truth

Doomed to watch the Earth

Burn itself in its own savagery.

And yet…

And yet, I sense some power

Returning into me.

The prison bars are no longer so rigid

I will bide my time

Watching and waiting

And one day I will be free…

.

.

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

awakening

Dragon 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 Melissa R. Mendelson @melissmendelson @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The String Between the Light and Dark Blue Beads
by Melissa R. Mendelson

She wore a light and dark blue beaded bracelet.

She told me that the world was indeed broken,

a strange man waited outside her door.

She toyed with the bracelet,

the string begging to break.

She said that all of our strings were begging to break.

She rolled one light blue bead against her skin,

making a dark red impression.

Nobody understands, she said.

Nobody wants to understand.

They are just like these beads held together,

but one thing and one thing only

will make them snap.

She never took that beaded bracelet off.

It was one of the last few things from her father before the pandemic,

but when I came over to visit,

the front door was open,

my foot stepped onto a light blue bead.

If I’m not here, she said, then they came for me,

my life wrapped in paper tied with broken string

to hide the truth,

a sea of dark and light blue beads

rolling around lost, desperate to fill her absence.

Our strings have finally broken.

She was now just one of many

decorating a bakery shop window

as others continued on, living their lives.

.

Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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About Author Melissa R. Mendelson:

Melissa R. Mendelson is the author of the Sci-Fi Novella, Waken.  She also has a prose poetry collection calledThis Will Remain With Us published by Wild Ink Publishing.  Her short story collections, Better Off Here and Name’s Keeper can be found on Amazon/Amazon Kindle.

If you’d like to learn more about Melissa, you can visit her accounts here: www.MelissaMendelson.com

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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!

The Only Option
by A.F. Stewart

Sarah hated puzzles. 

No, more than that, she feared them.

Who sent it? Why?

She scowled at this wooden thing with interlocking parts.

Did he send it? How?

Shivering, she stepped back, studying the puzzle box from a different angle.

If I had known, I would have refused delivery.

Sarah reached out, hesitating, but finally touched it. Nothing happened.

Is it harmless? Maybe, but his puzzles were never harmless. 

Inhaling, she snatched up the box; her palm tingled. Examining it, dread infused her bones.

Oh, god, it is one of his puzzles. Even now, from beyond the grave, he can’t leave me alone.

Closing her eyes, she repressed the memories. Her father’s obsession with the occult. Sitting through his lessons, forced to study his books, play his twisted games, solve intricate, arcane puzzle boxes, and answer complex riddles. She hated all of it. 

I was a pawn to you, in your games. Never good enough. Always sacrificed. Punished when I failed. And I always failed.

Anger welled inside her, and her fingers gripped the box tighter. “No. You can’t make me play anymore.” 

Impulsively, she flung the hated puzzle into the fireplace, watching the flames lick at the wood, slowly consuming it, burning it to ash. A shiver of delight raced down her spine, and Sarah smiled. 

“It’s over. I won.”

“Not quite.”

At the sound of her father’s voice, Sarah spun, catching a whiff of familiar cologne. A phantom hand brushed a lock of her hair and then her cheek. Her skin felt his touch.

The ghost of her father stood before her. 

“Hello, Sarah.” 

She trembled. “How are you here?”

“You didn’t solve the puzzle. What happened? Did you take another shortcut?”

She dug her fingernails into her palms to control her panic, her throat dry as she answered, “I burned it. I didn’t want to play. Not again.” 

“Ah. Too bad that wasn’t an option, but then you only had one, if you wanted to win. Solve the puzzle.”

This can’t be happening. I won’t let it happen.

Sarah raised her chin slightly; a tiny inch of defiance. “What puzzle? It’s gone.”

“But I’m not, silly girl. Thanks to you. Deciphering the puzzle would have saved you, yet you failed, as I knew you would.” He chuckled. “I counted on that failure. Counted on you to set me free. Now we’ll be together, forever.” 

Sarah stepped back, her stomach in knots. She knew what was coming.

“I should be grateful, but failure must be punished.”

Suppressing a whimper, Sarah braced herself for the pain.

.

 
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More from A.F. Stewart:

vn

Visions 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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Wynelda Ann Deaver @darc_nina #LoH

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Dominion
by Wynelda Ann Deaver

They have no dominion here.

They can try to steal you away. Wrap their silly lies tighter than a California roll. Try to explain how your are born of the earth…

It’s all lies.

You are a daughter of the seas. Ocean’s grace flows through your veins. They will steal your voice, your coat, your scales, your very soul. Stop allowing it.

Men often try to steal Ocean’s secrets. Some come away with the smallest glimpse of her treasures. But that is all she will allow. And if they go too far—well, dead men tell no tales, so the hidden depths of Ocean remain safe.

Ocean remains unconquered, never silent, never making her waves smaller to appease others. She sings through your veins, constant and endless. Her endless waves crashing against the sand, slowly eroding the shore.

Those who would steal your voice? Your choice?

They have no dominion here.

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More about Wynelda Ann Deaver:

Wynelda Ann Deaver writes in the world of dark and twisty fantasy. She is in her own words a ‘girly girl’ who loves scrapbooking. Wynelda is extremely family oriented – her father is her best friend, and her son is the light of her life. If you’d like to read more about Wynelda, please visit her online at Wynword’s Weblog.

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