Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sumiko Saulson @sumikoska @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on November 1, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_01Rising Before Dawn
by Sumiko Saulson

The plan had been simple… to eliminate the undead by dumping cargo containers full of them to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Cargo vessels docked at the shipping ports in the San Francisco Bay in Oakland and Alameda. Cranes lifted cargo containers that looked like brightly colored Legos. Crowd cheered. We drank champagne and toasted the end of the undead rebellion.
Then, we found out in the worst way… the undead had begun to evolve.
Gills, we imagined. But it was worse, they simply had no need to breathe at all. Perhaps their skins were nourished by nutrients in the air and the water through osmosis, the O in H20 absorbed through their rotting epidermis.
I was in my cabin below deck when they first resurrected. Along with the waterborne dead, I was rising before dawn on the morning it happened.
Angry fingers grasped at the side of the vessel for purchase. I heard their bony talons screech as they tore at the steel cargo ship in desperation, fingertips drenched in blood, fingernails ripped from the nail bed.  Members of the crew sat on deck with high-powered rifles, shooting them in the skulls to knock them off of the vessel. From the round window in my quarters below deck, I saw their bodies drop into the water. Hungry eyes stared at me from the other side of the portal, as a fresh batch of zombies used its ledges for purchase. They clung to seams and steel girders as they attempted to board.
Behind them, I saw the Golden Gate Bridge rise in the distance. On the towers above, trained snipers took shots at the zombies, knocking them back into the water. It was mayhem!
I’d been above deck on watch for four hours now. My job had been to shoot at the undead, blowing their brains out before they boarded. I handed my semiautomatic rifle off to the next watchman as I walked below deck.
Haunted by the image of a single hand protruding above the water, hungry fingers splayed, I retired to my cabin. Uneasy sleep bestowed upon my troubled mind dreams tinged with imagery that best remained in a Mary Shelley novel. The souls of the angry men and women who once occupied those undead bodies crackled overhead in the lightning. I heard their voices croak sour and malignant in the thunder. Ghosts wandered the decks in search of their reanimated corpses, dropped to the bottom of the sea.
Some of the zombies were too tired to launch their bodies into the ship. Instead, they patiently walked apace with the vessel. Their rotting bodies shielded by our shadow, cast against the sands of the Bay They followed our as it guided them ever towards the shore, a silent army, staging their invasion.
Fiction © Copyright Sumiko Saulson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Sumiko Saulson:
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Black Celebration

A collection of articles, essays and interviews with and by African American horror writers on black representation in horror, horror diversity, reviews of African American horror films, horror novels, weird fiction, dark fantasy and more.

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 Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on October 31, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Cemetery Gates
by Suzanne Madron

What had begun as a stupid child’s dare was quickly turning into the challenge of a psychopath. The crowd gathered and walked them through the headstones, following the pair to the gates. No one walked through the gates. Not anymore.
The crickets abruptly ended their nightsongs as they approached and even the owls in the old oak paused in their eerie calls to stare down at those gathered beneath their lightning-blasted perch. The congregated witnesses paused in their habitual breathing as the challenged man stepped up to the rusted wrought iron.
He looked at his companion and scowled. “It’s locked.”
The other man’s smile was too wide, showing his back teeth and black sockets where teeth once had been. “That lock is rotted through. A tap with a rock will knock it loose.”
One of the children, eternally the helper, offered up a piece of one of the broken headstones. “Will this work?”
“That it will!” crowed the smiling man. He tapped the rock on the rusted chain and the links crumbled. “Now we settle this for once and all.”
The other man’s scowl deepened. “No good will come of this, Zeke. I beg you to reconsider.”
The smiling man laughed. “I tell you again as I have said before, the danger is a myth.” He approached and swung wide the iron cage.
The gates screamed in protest and clanged to a halt over exposed tree roots. It was not the yawning exit point that Zeke had hoped for but it was dramatic. His smile returned as he looked at the crowd.
He tipped his hat to the ladies, gave a nod to his still-scowling companion, and took a tentative step over the threshold of the old churchyard. As his rotted boot came in contact with the ground on the other side of the gate, the sun began to rise over the horizon.
“Zeke, stop! This is madness!”
Zeke took another step and now he stood on the other side of the crumbling walls, past the old gates. He turned to his audience and something shining white shone in the light of the sunrise. His smile faltered as he realized it was a skeleton.
It lay sprawled just on the other side of the gates, hand outstretched as if the man had tried to crawl into the old graveyard. Zeke took a step closer. The mouldering hat on the ground next to the skull looked like his hat.
Another step. One of the fingers had a gold ring set with a ruby. Zeke held his own hand up and stared for a moment at the gold ring with the ruby adorning his own hand. It had been a gift from his grandfather and he never took it off.
One more step and the toe of his boot tapped the flapping sole of the skeleton’s boot. Within the ribcage of the skeleton, where a vest pocket might have been before the cloth rotted away, lay a tarnished pocketwatch half buried in dust. He bent down and picked up the watch, shaking off the dirt as he removed his own watch from the pocket of his vest.
The inscription on the back of the watches was the same. With a sinking feeling he clicked the buttons at the top of each watch and the covers popped open to reveal the same cracked glass. The skeleton’s watch had stopped at a quarter past seven.
Zeke looked down at his own watch. It read fourteen minutes past seven. He barely heard the screams of the others as the second hand approached the twelve.”
Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Suzanne Madron:

For Sale or Rent

The house across the street seems to go on the market every few months, but this time nothing about the sale is normal, including the new owners. No sooner has the for sale sign come down and the neighborhood is thrown into a Lovecraftian nightmare and the only way to find out is to attend the house warming party.

 

Available on Amazon!

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Karen Soutar @kaz_ess @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on October 31, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Image_03Bhuidseach
by Karen Soutar

She always came back here, to the sea.
It wasn’t a beautiful spot. Just rocks underfoot, and towering above too – strange, misshapen things; brooding faces in the cliff. The villagers said they were creepy, like the rocks were always watching them. Mind you, they said that about her, too.
She had always loved the cliffs. And the birds.
The sky was full of them. Gannets, cormorants, gulls. Greedy fish eaters who thought nothing of dropping fish guts on unwary wanderers. Another reason that people hated to go there. Once, a gull had dropped something slimy right on her head. She had laughed and laughed, dragging the entrails through her hair along with the salt spray, tangling her dark locks themselves into a bird’s nest. That night, trying to detangle her hair ready for another day, she wished she were lying at the edge of the sea, washing her hair like one of the sirens in the old tales. But the waters here would pound anyone trying to lie in them against the shore, until they were no more than the entrails the birds were so fond of dropping.
Nevertheless, she always came back here.
Today, she had to decide.
The word had been whispered. The word that Mother, Grandmother, and so many others had heard before her.
It had only been a matter of time. Women who were different didn’t last long. Reading. Using medicines. Walking alone. Talking to animals, and plants. Talking and singing to yourself. Having an opinion. All could be, and had been, a death sentence. She wondered if that would ever change.
The word had been spoken – only by one, at first, but that was enough. Then it had been uttered by many. They had come, with their instruments of sharpened steel. With their Bibles, their crosses, their cold, cold hands. As they had come for her mother – except she had fled. Now the daughter was grown, they were owed a body, a life, a soul.
But her mother had left instructions.
She stopped under the rock they called An-Aghaidh. Risked looking up at the birds wheeling overhead. They were silent, for once, no screams and cries as they chased each other across the sky. Expectant, waiting.
The spell left her lips easily. As easily as it had travelled from Mother’s pages to her memory.
The waters rose, wrapped around her like a blanket. The cliffs leaned over her, sheltering. The birds dived, whirled, until nothing could be seen of her but a maelstrom of feathers, white, brown, grey, black. When they dispersed, she was no longer who she had been. The ancient powers of water, earth and air had transformed her into someone else. The someone she was accused of being.
The Bhuidseach arose, shook herself, stretched. She withdrew her gaze from the sea and sky, looking back across the land at the village in the distance.
Mother had left, wreaking no revenge on those who had driven her from her home. So had Grandmother. No revenge for those who had been unable to flee, who had died in water and in fire and by the rope. No revenge for those who had fled with nowhere to go, who had been robbed and raped and had starved to death in ditches all over the land.
She gazed once more at the ocean, at the sky. They were hers for the exploring, now. But they would always be there. They could wait.
She turned, and ran towards the village. The birds wheeled and followed her. The ground trembled under her feet. Overhead, it began to rain.
Scots Gaelic words:
An-Aghaidh (an-eye-ee): The Face
Bhuidseach (bud-shuch): Witch
Fiction © Copyright Karen Soutar
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lydia Prime @LydiaPrime @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on October 30, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Unknown Filth
by Lydia Prime

Beads of sweat become streaks down my tired face. I approach the home of an ‘afflicted’ child, feeling the evil emanating from within. Always seeing, watching, hahaha! We see, can’t hide – the voice echoes through my skull, reverberating off every open chasm and back into my spinal cord. I shiver, grit my teeth, and knock on the enormous wooden door. It flies open and I’m greeted by a man, his face mirrors the exhaustion of my own, his eyes beg for salvation. A plea for help! A cry, a cry! My thoughts swim in pools of depravity, the voice taunting me – so vile, but yet, its power…
The man walks me past other family members who are just as weary. Their heads bowed and chanting under their breath. The voice laughs loudly in my ears, almost causing me to miss a step; I wonder if anyone else can hear it. We make it to our destination, the scent of rotten meat fills the air. I thank the man and tell him it will be alright soon – he seems to believe me and half smiles as he returns to join the rest of the potential mourners. 
I step through a doorway into a ground of unholy fire, though most believe hellfire burns hot, the fact of the matter is, they’re colder than ice. My breath puffs in front of me as I look around the room: baby blue walls spattered with unknown filth, action figures that create a path to the sleeping child. So innocent, so deliciously corruptible, ours – ours! My stomach lurches into my throat and I turn to the dresser to lay out my tools. Turn… Around….
Spinning on my heel, I move too fast and knock the holy water to the ground, “Oh!” I mutter and look at the child. No longer pressed against the bed but upright facing the wall. His head spins toward me, eyes glow red and a toothy grin spreads across his face. I hear a crack and watch as his body contorts backward in the most inhumanely manner.
“Demon, I cast you out in the name of our savior!” I shout and thrust my cross forward. The boy screeches and skitters back. “Out you damned beast!” He hisses as I reach down to grab the holy water, spraying what little is left over him. His flesh sizzles and the monster within growls. I press the cross to his chest and recite several prayers – he writhes in agony. The voice screams; it growls and shouts obscenities – I can’t be sure if I’m hearing it in my mind or out.
At last the chaos ceases, there’s only myself and the boy in complete silence. His breath is shallow and his body relaxes against the cross.
The voice cries out from within me again, I watch as a figure darker than night slides through the room, closing in on me. “Begone foul creature!” I demand, but it’s too late. I’m engulfed in darkness, no longer in control of my body. The holy book in my hand changes, and I stare in awe as an eye peers at me from the cover. It glows.
I stare into the mirror above the dresser and see myself smirking. I hear the voice again, this time it comes from my own mouth, “I win, Father.”
Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Lydia Prime:

Lydia is that friendly monster under your bed just waiting for you to stick your limbs out from beneath the covers. She tends to frequent the nightmares others dare not tread. When she’s not trying to shred scraps of humanity from the unsuspecting, she writes stories and poems of the horror and dark fiction variety. She’s often found behind dreaded 800 numbers collecting souls.

Please visit Lydia on Facebook for more info. 

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lori R. Lopez @LoriRLopez @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #poem #poetry

Posted on October 30, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_01Goliath
by Lori R. Lopez

From an opaque night a tempest brewed,
crackling, raining bolts of fierce light,
stirring a dark soup to crash and maim the
hull of a sturdy Cargo Ship, a titanic Freighter.
Iron rending, crumpled and caved, split by
seas that pounded like hostile fists.
The mammoth hulk soon listed too far —
tasting, gulping mouthfuls of black waves.
In water risen through a large rift on a steep side,
shipmates and I were trapped below-decks.
All hands had been summoned. A few spied
ripples of movement; flashes of milk-white flesh.
Something lurked in that depth of flickering lamps.
A creature of the brine. A beast most unlike
the average deformed specimens hauled in with the
catches of fishing crews on smaller vessels. Never
labeled, recorded. Too wily for any net. A slyer
species, that much seemed obvious.
How wrong was I in certain assumptions!
The ship went down, screeching, cursed from
each weld and rivet of its construction, fated
to languish and rust at the bed of an abyss.
Victim of cruel skies that mirrored the Deep
only vaster — endless; unfathomed by mortals.
The testy tin bucket plummeted with protests,
creaking howls of agonized metal hide.
Resting to carve a shallow grave that could not
encase it fully. And the crew that rode this
doomed behemoth to the bottom would flail,
drowning, strangling in its undertow . . .
Claimed with the lick of a ravenous tide,
screams cut off as liquid flooded lungs.
Scores of stalwart mariners drawn to the
ocean floor, convulsing, choked in throes of
misery till strained pleas went still, glazed orbs
wide as fish-eyes in the ice-clutches of Poseidon.
Suspended in wet burial chambers, a mausoleum
of disordered crypts . . . Wax Museum statues
buoyant or sinking in limp poses. Wan caricatures,
both lifelike and lifeless, expressions blank.
Devoid of warmth, vitality, substance. Frozen
yet rubbery. I watched behind a porthole.
Coward or death-defier, my brain reacted to
an urgent crisis by steering me toward a cache
stocked with emergency gear. I thought to
tell those who might hear, but found a scene
of madmen rushing, yelling, scrambling to
save themselves. I sealed the door . . .
And witnessed tragedy, safe, shielded by thick glass
the size of a modest dinner plate. Shock. Desperation.
I had pulled on a mask, a tank of Oxygen just before
someone glimpsed me. Familiar. Once friends.
The woman slapped the window to my refuge
mouthing a phrase: Let me in! My head shook.
Water poured the ruined compartment, the base of
the ship. I wanted to help. There was no time . . .
we would all perish! Inanimate bodies drifted past,
obscuring the view. Among them floated a second
survivor, lacking name, unrecognized. Another gaze
locked mine, standing out from the Dead.
Although he bore the pallor of a corpse, he towered,
his structure huge — seven feet I estimated. Stitchmarks
ranged a bare upper torso, the sign of frequent surgeries
to craft this abomination. A military experiment?
A scientist’s morbid folly? Staring at me, vile and wicked.
I saw in cold eyes a soulless approximation of a man . . .
And squirmed under his scrutiny, truly afraid.
Why he existed, able to bate his breath if in fact he
breathed; glaring at me with teeth exposed — a snarl —
I could scarce comprehend. I had embarked upon
a strange voyage, under volatile heavens engineered by
deliberate forces. Manmade decisions and disasters.
None of it was natural, and without Nature, how might
we measure ourselves against our origins? To know how
far we had come or gone? There were boons and there
were booms that obliterated entire cities! This example
of miscreation boasted gruesome enhancements
fused onto a human frame: inhuman elements . . .
Parts of him grown in a Lab. Sewn like a patchwork
ragdoll into a bizarre chimeric entity. Powerful,
he grappled beneath my vision. What did he intend?
Would he wrench the hatch away? I gasped in fear
and blinked at the door bend, warped to allow streams
of saltwater to enter my haven. I could not leave . . .
Guarded by a devilish presence, a ghastly wraith.
Bleak murderous lips curled into an eerie smile.
Gloating, as if he had all the time in the world,
the monstrosity abided. Water filled my tomb,
a slow torture. I fumbled to activate my air-tank,
insert the mouthpiece. The first container emptied.
Swimming, I sought a replacement. The supply of
Oxygen diminished while a goliath brute enjoyed my
distress. I have reached the final tank. When I am
no more, he will stroke for the surface, toward a gray
expanse and break free, escaping this dungeon,
abandoning the ghosts of an interrupted journey.
Arrived; one with a turbulent environment of
thunderskies. Feeding off electric strobes, jagged and
unruly. At home in a furious pitch, a perennial rage.
Woe to any Search Party. To inhabitants of the
nearest coast. We were damned — soon as a ceaseless
nightmare squall released him in a wrecked Hold.
Fiction © Copyright Lori R. Lopez
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Lori R. Lopez:

LoriRLopez_Darkverse Darkverse: The Shadow Hours

A rich gathering of poetry with a dismal twilight atmosphere, a brooding nature, an eerie tone . . . DARKVERSE: THE SHADOW HOURS encompasses such pieces written by Lori R. Lopez between 2009 and 2017, collected in three of her POETIC REFLECTIONS volumes along with humorous and serious verse. This ample compendium allows a more focused reading experience and mood — presenting poems that share speculative themes, flashes of horror, glimpses of madness.

Lori is the author of THE DARK MISTER SNARK, THE STRANGE TAIL OF ODDZILLA, LEERY LANE, MONSTROSITIES, AN ILL WIND BLOWS, and THE FAIRY FLY among other tales. She has been called a storyteller, whether composing verse or prose.

The aim of her Darkverse series is to offer a chilling trek through unlit stretches where all manner of creeps and kooks may lurk; where graveyards and bogs and full-moons abound. The pages of The Shadow Hours illuminate those morbid uncanny perils and dreads that inhabit drab corners, the known and unknown terrors of the night. Vivid and distinct, her voice echoes our worst fears then delves beyond, exposing hitherto unimaginable frights.

Prepare to confront a motley array of ghouls and menaces that might just move under your bed.

DARKVERSE: THE SHADOW HOURS is an Elgin Award Nominee and a 2018 Kindle Book Awards Poetry Finalist. Look for an Illustrated Print Edition with quirky art by the author.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lisa Lane @LeighMLane @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on October 29, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Sacrifice
by Lisa Lane

“What left do I have to give?” The man, long stripped of any name or title, dragged himself back through the heavy gate.
He’d offered all he had to the Field Witch. She’d stripped him, layer by layer, with her bargains until his land, his clothes, even his flesh all belonged to the greedy hag. Still, his sweet Eva fell out of reach.
“Seems you’re down to just your bones and your soul, and I’ll happily take either,” said the old woman, her black eyes wide and unblinking, “but I still can’t promise the spell will work.”
“Why can’t you? I’ve seen what you can do—the Andersons’ crops, the Smiths’ shop, the Roberts’ baby girl—and for far less payment than you’ve taken from me.”
An unconcerned shrug. “Such is the way of magic.”
“You’re lying. I think you’ve been stealing from me, offering me false hopes all this time, and I want it all back. All of it!”
“First off, m’boy, I cannot steal what’s freely given to me. What’s done is done.”
“But you promised—”
“Secondly, your intentions are ultimately what drive the spell. Nothing I can do if you corrupt it after I’ve handed it over.”
He scoffed. “A corrupted spell!”
“I see it all the time, men like you, mistaking desire for love.” The old woman laughed. “You must love her for the spell to work.”
“But I do love her!”
The witch fell silent, but a slight smile held across her long, crooked face. “Then what will it be? Regardless of which you choose to keep, mind you, it’ll be of little use to her.”
“We’ll find a way. She’ll understand. I love her—more than anything else in this world,” he said with even more insistence. “I have to make her mine.”
Fiction © Copyright Lisa Lane
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Lisa Lane:

lisalane_janethehippievampireJane the Hippie Vampire, Volume 1: Revival

This four-part collection includes the first three novellas to the dark, dramatic horror series, Jane the Hippie Vampire, as well as an exclusive novelette:

Love Beads: Jane crosses paths with a middle-aged man who’s encountered her kind before–but he seems happy just to have the company. Of course, appearances can be deceiving, and his secret might just prove to be the end of her.

Flashbacks: Jane must face demons from her past when she encounters a long-lost friend and a homeless Vietnam veteran with lingering demons of his own.

Hair: Jane goes south for the winter, hoping to find reprieve in the forests of the Blue Ridge Mountains. A supernatural stalker of the shape-shifting variety has different plans, however. Will her new-found ally–a park ranger with a painful secret–be enough to help her avoid a fate worse than undeath?

Flower Power: Jane teams up with an astral traveler in order to banish a dreamwalker from her past–and in the process, she must confront her greatest nightmare.

About the series: Jane has had one hell of a time ever since she happened upon the wrong guy during the Summer of Love, but she’s taken it all in stride. Wandering from town to town, she seeks out the needy and the broken in hopes of breaking the curse that’s left her bloodthirsty and forever seventeen.

Available on Amazon!

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Loren Rhoads @MorbidLoren @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on October 29, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Rock Faces
by Loren Rhoads

Alondra DeCourval stood alone on the plain of frozen lava. In the distance, the surf exploded against the island’s shoreline, but here the air above the lava field was as arid and still as a desert.
She gazed up at the rock formations towering ahead of her. It was all too easy to see their collections of shallow caves as empty eye sockets and yawning, toothless mouths. The faces looked as if they had been frozen in mid-scream.
What happened here? Alondra stepped forward to place her palm against what might have been a cheek. She closed her green eyes, settled her breathing, and listened.
Overhead the gulls wheeled and screeched, making it difficult to concentrate. Alondra resettled her feet, shifted her shoulders, but didn’t take her hand from the rock.
At the edge of consciousness, she heard something. It was subtle and slow, a shadow almost without sound, but the gist of it resolved into an impression of pleading. She didn’t understand the words — they were in some language she hadn’t heard before — but trapped within the rock was a consciousness or two. And they begged for death.
Alondra took a step backward. She wasn’t as familiar with Hawaiian lore as she knew she should be, but the one thing she understood quite clearly was that no one messed with the goddess Pele.
Pele lived in the volcanoes at the heart of each island. She made lava flow or stop at her whim. If you stole her rocks or didn’t make the correct offerings or disrespected her in any way, you were doomed.
Alondra gazed up at the rocky faces and wondered how they had angered the fire goddess.
It was heartbreaking to stand before them, to understand they wanted her help — and to realize that she was powerless. The goddess had imprisoned them for a reason. She’d kept them alive for a reason. Alondra couldn’t trust the prisoners to tell her honestly why that was. And while she had often risked her life to help some poor creature who requested her help, here in Pele’s domain — on an island surrounded by the savage Pacific Ocean — Alondra risked many more lives than her own. If it suited Pele, she could erupt the volcanoes, explode the island, and leave a wreck behind like Santorini. Or worse, like Atlantis.
Alondra knelt at the foot of the rock face. From her messenger bag she took the bottle of gin, a vanilla-scented candle, and a box of matches, and set them on the cold lava. She removed the flower that had been pinned into her auburn hair and rolled its stem between her palms. As the flower twirled, it released its scent. Then she placed the tuberose blossom reverently on the lava.
Before she could reach for the matches, the candle wick took flame all of its own.
“Thank you, Madame,” Alondra said. “I have a favor to ask. Not for myself, but for these creatures trapped here.”
The ground beneath her knees grumbled, as if a giant below her turned over under its blanket of stone. The gin bottle toppled over. Although Alondra hadn’t even loosened its cap, liquor flowed out onto the parched rock.
“If it pleases you to release them, thank you,” Alondra said.
There came another groaning sound: rock grinding against rock. This sound came from over her head. Alondra scrambled back from the cliff face, but stones didn’t crumble or fall. Instead, the depressions she had taken for empty eye sockets had narrowed. The caves like toothless mouths had twisted into cruel, anticipatory smiles.
Alondra unhooked the matched pair of peridots swinging from her earlobes. She stretched down and placed the earrings beside the burning candle and the tuberose flower. “Madame, if it suits you, leave them imprisoned where they can do no harm.”
Alondra heard a sound like gnashing teeth, but no other response. She turned and walked back across the lava field, watching her feet so she wouldn’t twist an ankle. She never saw the old woman who came behind her to slip the earrings into her own earlobes and tuck the flower into her own steam-white hair.
Fiction © Copyright Loren Rhoads
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Loren Rhoads:

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Alondra’s Experiments

Alondra DeCourval travels from San Francisco to Prague to Olso, encountering magical creatures and searching for the limits she will go to for love.

Available on Amazon! 

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Nina D’Arcangela @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on October 28, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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A Seeing Night
by Nina D’Arcangela

Sitting before a low table on a pile of cushions, she prepares herself in the company of her four-footed companions. The atmosphere is one of calm anticipation. This is a seeing night, a night when she will leave behind her own world and step into another’s. The dim light cast by the mica wall sconces along with the candles flickering throughout the room, bounce an eerie glow off the collection of oddities surrounding her. The thick lustrous smoke curling upward from the burning incense takes on a nearly animate quality in the strange light. Here, in this place, none can touch her, but she can reach outward and touch so many.
Choosing a vial from the many she keeps stored in this protected sanctum, she pours a small measure into the silver chalice before her. Lifting the cup and holding it close to her body, the drops warm and grow in volume, filling the over-sized goblet just enough to reflect her glittering eyes as she peers into its surface. She watches through the viscous liquid as he steps from his truck. Her vision distorted by the tremble of the precious fluid held captive in the vessel, she observes as his would-be attacker crouches in the darker shadows.
Her heart quickens with expectancy of what is to come; she watches through amber tinted vision as the assailant silently approaches.

***

A brief but brutal spasm of pain shoots through her head followed by the gut wrenching memory of the last seeing. It draws her to her knees. The peace and serenity of the past now forever tainted. A flash through time, her mind reels; his eyes peer back into hers, the chalice is thrown, the fluid within betrays her trust. A warning forgotten, perhaps dismissed, arrogance assures her safety in this hallowed realm. Never has she been so wrong.
As she watches, the assailant approaches his target in the dark abandoned lot. A struggle ensues, but ends in a mere blink; the violence feeds her hunger, holds her in its thrall. She misjudges; allows the corridor to widen, permits him to see her watching. For a brief moment, the portal opens on both sides. She sits stunned as he jabs the narrow pig sticker through the wavering fluid and into her left eye.
Now, when it is a seeing night, she seeks only the most remorseful; souls in need of comfort and caring, not the heart-pounding excitement of an outcome unknown. Now, when it is a seeing night, she sees with only one eye – the other forever clouded and dead to the word. Knowing better, she no longer reaches for the vials containing drops of venom. Having learned her lesson well, the wasps’ sting will forever be with her – but always more so on a seeing night.
Fiction © Copyright Nina D’Arcangela
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Nina D’Arcangela:

Mental Ward: EXPERIMENTS

A dank basement, shadow filled hallways, the deep echo of a metal latch being thrown while faint screams are heard… These are the things you might experience in a place where the unspeakable happens, where conscientious action and moral turpitude turn a blind eye in the interest of advancing one’s own personal pursuits in the most deranged and unjustifiable manner. The type of place where power corrupts, and depravity runs rampant among those imbued with it. A place where the unfortunate are abandoned to the devices of those who convince themselves their actions are in the best interest of science.

Mental Ward: Experiments is a collection of ten short stories that demonstrate the worst of humanity’s ambition in the interest of ‘civilized’ advancement. Step into a world where sanity is left behind, and horror is what the doctor ordered!

Available on Amazon!

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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 Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on October 28, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Shocking, Isn’t It?
by Rie Sheridan Rose

My father was disappointed in me from the day I made my mewling way into his house. After five daughters, you would have surmised he would be pleased to have a son…but apparently, just the block and tackle wasn’t enough. 
He tried molding me into the man he wanted me to be with whip and chain—literally—but was not pleased with the result. So, as soon as feasible, he foisted me off on one of his subordinates, a sea captain by the name of Smythe. At the age of twelve, I went to sea.
I never rose beyond the rank of sailor. Captain Smythe felt I hadn’t the temperament for an officer. Instead, I swabbed the deck and coiled the lines…until sailing ships gave way to steam, and steam to coal…and I was no longer twelve—or even fifty. 
I grew old on the sea, and the sea was indifferent. At the age of sixty, I fell ill and—apparently—died. 
At least, I found myself struggling out of a weighted shroud at the bottom of the sea. Water…water everywhere. But I had never felt more alive. I looked at my hands, and they were strong and young again. The brand from the heated chain my father had disciplined me with coiling down my wrist almost glowed.
I swam for the surface. It seemed the thing to do. When I broke free of the water, I saw a ship approaching. The name on the bow was familiar—familial, even. The image of a skull appeared before me…and I knew what I must do.
I called down the lightning—and the ship burned. Every soul aboard sent to their own watery eternity.
And, I felt nothing.
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

Skellyman

“I have always preferred the supernatural in tales of horror, the knot between life and death. Rie Sheridan Rose’s Skellyman is cool and creepy. Her first horror novel is a chilling read.” — Charlee Jacob – Stoker winner, Best novel, “Dread in the Beast”

Brenda Barnett is trying to cope with raising her four-year-old daughter all alone after an accident tore her family in half. As she and Daisy go for a much-needed treat, the little girl spots a Skellyman on the corner.

This pivotal encounter leads to a wave of mounting terror as Brenda’s life begins to come undone around her. Who is the Skellyman? Why does he keep appearing? Can the sympathetic policeman Brenda turns to stop the madness before it is too late?

And why does Daisy insist that her dead brother is trying to tell them something important?

Available on Amazon!

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

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

Posted on October 27, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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I Have Promises to Keep
K.R. Morrison

Away, bright and terrible Light! What need have I of your promises? This business must be taken care of before you come for me.
And bats! Do not think that you may have the leavings of my destitute soul. Your master must await the outcome as well.
Oh, Teresa! Dear Teresa! If you had not spurned my advances, stolen my heart, and then trod on it with your darling feet, my non-ending demise would not have had its roots.
For you I sought, for you I tried every possible overture, yet you ignored them all. Your brothers, my boon companions, would often say that you just needed more time. But time is of no consequence to me now. I am free—and cursed—to bring our relationship to a satisfying conclusion.
How many times have I been destroyed at the hands of these, my friends? When I was caught dabbling in the dark arts, did any one of them stand up in my defense? No! I was hung without a protest from any of them.
But playing chess with the Devil never finds a result that is positive on the side of the mortal. This I now know. And this is why I now haunt you, Teresa, and will do so until I have you, body and mind.
I refrain from the term “soul.” This I cannot have, as it seems that my own will not stay at peace, will not go to the Light or to the Dark. You may keep your soul—although it will probably avail you not.
I am amused at the thought of how many times the villagers—my dearest friends!—have tried to put me into the ground for good. Hanging, stabbing, flaying, tearing me limb from limb—none of these worked. I could feel their anguish as they did these things to me, and so I do not detest them for it. However, I imagine that the church registry is quite full of the many deaths to which I have been subjected. The burial dates on my gravestone must be about to fill up the granite upon which they are inscribed. Before the vultures plucked out my eyes on one occasion, when I’d been left to rot after being burned, I used to laugh at the crossed-out numbers.
Of course, the laughing stopped months ago, when my head was removed from my body. This time, the villagers buried me without it. But my friends—and here I am not talking about the men I used to spend hours with in the alehouse—my friends the worms and insects, the vultures and spiders, all helped me to become reunited with it. It is surprising how well they work together when a powerful curse is in control.
Now I dodge this blasted Light and the minions of Darkness, in order to sense my darling’s presence yet again. The last time I was able to see her, she had become quite a mess from lack of sleep. Her own eyes were sunken in, and she walked in a daze. No longer does she believe her kin, that she can be protected from me.
Smart girl—for she is becoming me. And I am becoming her.
This last time I pulled myself from the grave, I felt new sinew growing between my fingers, and my soul grinned.
Oh, Teresa, I am coming for you!
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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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments