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

Posted on February 20, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Annalina
by Lydia Prime

Time seems to go so much faster now; the world withers but I stay the same. If I focus on the end, maybe it won’t start again…
Shallow breaths leave tears streaming down my cheeks. I can’t help but wonder if it could have been different – would have been different – if only I’d just said no. My thoughts travel to places I’d rather not see; a memory breaks through and my pulse begins to slow.
The ground beneath my feet feels as if it’s falling away; I’m floating through a familiar void. I look above and see a faint glimmer of green, the higher my body goes, the brighter the light becomes. Strung up in the cosmos I watch the clocks roll back and forth while the skies change above me. Prickles on my fingers; my flesh gives way to bone. It doesn’t hurt anymore, just happens.
***
A long lonely path to the decaying castle, I looked up to the branches, small buds – the leaves were just starting to appear after such a vicious winter. It took just over an hour to walk from town to the abomination within the mountains.
Upon reaching the iron gate, I paused and took in my surroundings. It didn’t seem like any of the monstrosities were venturing about. No enormous winged beasts circling overhead, nor the six-legged mongrel. Those were the worst, with their ability to almost pass for a dog, had it not been for the extra limbs, and of course overwhelming maw filled to the brim with sharp black teeth. I breathed deeply and convinced myself that I was doing the right thing, no matter how hopeless I felt, and pushed the gateway open; the creaking of the rusted old metal hurt my ears. I shivered as goose bumps traveled the length of my arms and made my way to the wooden doors of the enormous structure.
Before I could knock, the door swung open. Through what little light there was, I could just barely make out the silhouette of someone standing back near the opposite wall. I cautiously stepped through the door way, my eyes locked on whomever was hiding in the shadows.
“Hello?” My voice shaky and questioning. No response followed and the figure remained still. “Are you, Annalina?” It took one step forward, I assumed that to be a yes. “Annalina, I’ve been sent by the people you and your beasts torment. I’ve watched as your nightmarish ghouls have plucked us off one by one. I stood helpless while my siblings drowned in a pool of their own blood. I –”
The figure let out a raucous laughter. She stepped closer to the light, closer to me. Now I could see all of her: pallid skin hung loosely from bone, fingernails curled in different directions, eyes of pure obsidian, stringy grey hair that came past her hips. “You’re either unbelievably brave or immeasurably stupid to dare coming here, to dare speaking to me like that.” Her voice rasped something awful, the hate in her tone was absolute.
“I prefer brave. I’m here to offer you a deal.” I blurted out; a bit quicker than I should have. My palms were sweating profusely and my knees were becoming jelly. I held her gaze and watched as a glint formed in those dark eyes.
“A deal, child? Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” Annalina smirked, her yellow rotten teeth exposed.
Needing to resist the urge to run, I nodded. She moved closer, her odor wafting in my face. She stood no more than four feet away from me, “I will give you whatever you want, if you leave the town and its people be.” I dropped my head to my chest, her putrid scent causing nausea. “Anything at all, but the town must never be victim to your monsters or you ever again.”
“Anything? Anything at all?” She mused, “But how do you know if you have anything I’d want?”
My heart sank, I didn’t know. I had no plan beyond getting here, I didn’t think I’d even make it this far. Whatever it takes… “What do you want?” I asked. “The only way to know, is if you tell me.”
She scratched her scaly chin, turned away from me and began to pace as she thought. “You.” She uttered calmly, spinning to face me once again.
“M-m-me?” I stammered. “What could you want with me?”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? You said anything. I want you, all of you.”
“You’ll never bother the towns people again?”
“Never.” She held up her hand as if swearing on some invisible tome.
“So be it.” I replied accepting her request.
Annalina’s cackle echoed through the empty room and the ground began to crumble around us. She raised her grotesque hands to the heavens and chanted in a language I’d never heard. Green sparks flicked around us, her skin smoothing while mine shriveled. We floated above the clouds for what seemed like an eternity. When it was over, I collapsed and looked up at her. She’d gone from a disgusting old crone to an indescribably beautiful young woman.
“Your youth, your life, your soul. These will keep me satisfied for a time. As you heal, my youth and beauty will fade. Then, it will be time to feed off you some more. Your precious town will be safe as long as you live.”
Tears welled up and stung behind my eyes. My breaths shallow, my skin like paper.
Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Lydia Prime:

UHBWUnder Her Black Wings:
2020 Women of Horror Anthology

– A glamorous actress whose very flesh is reanimated by a beloved Hollywood icon
– A Boy Scout Troup encounters a frightening mythological creature in an American forest
– A lonely woman finds a home among a group of lost-and-found souls, all cared for by a tentacled sea-creature called Mother
– A Faceless Woman attacks like a virus and takes on the identities of her victims
– A post-apocalyptic battle for survival rages between human and insect
– A Shadow Woman leads the spirits of the murdered to take revenge in the desert

These are just some of the stories nineteen women came up with when tasked with creating their own Women Monsters. Step inside and experience tales of bloodsucking entities in the jungles of Southeast Asia, Cuban river goddesses, an Aztec bruja, werewolves, mermaids, soul-stealers, obsessive lovers, furious spurned wives, bloody murder in Gothic manors and on Southern plantations… and so much more…

With Foreword by Brandon Scott (Author of Vodou and Sleight, Devil Dog Press)

 Available on Amazon!  

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Please don’t forget to visit the other WiHM 11 projects taking place!

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

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

Posted on February 20, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Ivan and the Goddess
by Marge Simon

After dinner, Ivan is out for a smoke, as he’s wont to do if weather permits. The oaks are limed in shadows, the heavens ablaze with points of light. This night seems different, full of portent.  He strikes a match to his pipe, wondering if he might discover some new constellation of his own invention.  But the flame goes out as a woman materializes, the sexiest young woman he’s ever seen.  She appears to float his way, holding an object lit with an otherworldly glow. Ivan stares with pipe unlit, wondering where she comes from, and why here, to his back yard.
“I come to share,” she says, revealing a golden hour glass, its top half almost empty.  Trembling, Ivan touches it. “I know who you are, gorgeous. You’re an angel, come to tell me that my time here is at an end.” His eyes narrow, “Is this not so?”
“Wrong, Ivan! I’m no angel, I’m the Goddess of Time. As to why I’m here—oh!”
Ivan instantly snatches the glass out of her hand, turning it back over as he does. “Say no more, you beautiful broad. I get to live as long as I want, now. With another lifetime ahead, I can prepare myself to be president of our nation. I can have all the sexy women I wish, starting with you.”
The goddess begins laughing. “Do you actually believe I’d bring you my sacred Glass of Hours? I have a bet with the God of Fools that you’d do something like this. He thought you’d beg me for a kiss, maybe ask me to sleep with you. Hah!”
“I was just about to propose both of those things,” says Ivan. “But you are saying this is a fake?”
“It surely is, but you’re smarter than I’d thought, Ivan. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”
Ivan stares speechless as the lovely goddess unhinges her jaw. “It gets boring, being a Goddess.  Sometimes I need a change of pace. I’m moonlighting as a vampire this evening, that’s what I wanted to share, little man.”
Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Marge Simon:

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The Demeter Diaries
by Marge Simon and‎ Bryan D. Dietrich

‘The Demeter Diaries’ is a record of love and longing and the inevitable horror that arises between the minds of Mina Harker and Vlad Dracula as they court one another in waking dreams. The dialogue, written in both poetry and prose, imagines a psychic connection that develops between the two even before Dracula arrives in England. As Dracula makes his way from Transylvania to Whitby on the doomed ship Demeter, the two would-be lovers transmit their thoughts across the waves and lands that separate them, alternately wooing and terrifying one another with the idea of love eternal and all the dark delicacies necessary to ensure it. Front cover art by Wendy Saber Core, interior illustrations by Luke Spooner.

Available on Amazon!

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Please don’t forget to visit the other WiHM 11 projects taking place!

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

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

Posted on January 31, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

04_img_jan_rsTruth or Dare
by Sheri White
The four girls hung out in Sam’s basement, lounging on big pillows, dressed in jammies pants and tank tops. Potato chip crumbs littered the carpet and a stack of soda cans teetered precariously on the coffee table. An old black and white horror movie played on TV, the sound turned down.
“All right, Hannah, your turn. Truth or dare?” Missy asked.
“Truth.”
“Come on, you guys!” Sam said. “Nobody is taking a dare.” She passed the joint to Courtney.
“It’s because we’re too stoned to do anything else,” Hannah said, then laughed. “Okay, what’s the question?”
“Who are you hoping asks you to the prom?” Missy asked.
“No, I’m not answering that! Give me another question.”
“You have to answer it, Hannah!” Sam said.
“This must be good if she doesn’t want to answer it, Sam.”
“I agree, Courtney. Spill it, Hannah.”
Hannah covered her face with her hands. “Jordan.”
“WHO?” all the girls yelled.
Hannah took her hands down. “Jordan!” she yelled back, her face beet red.
They laughed together, then Missy said, “Let’s play something else. This isn’t fun anymore.”
“Stiff as a Board?” Courtney suggested.
Missy shook her head. “That is so middle school. Come on, it’s Sam’s 16th birthday! We have to do something really cool and special.”
“Hey, I know!” Sam said. “Let’s go to the upside-down church. It’s only 20 minutes away. Hannah can drive us, right?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Wait,” said Courtney. “An upside-down church? How does it balance on the pointy steeple?”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Courtney—open your physics book sometime. An upside-down church is one that has secret Satanic rituals in the basement.”
Courtney shuddered. “No, thanks. Too scary for me.”
“It’s not real, Courtney. Just an urban legend,” Sam replied. “We can go inside, grab something to bring back with us, and then we are the cool girls in school who dared to go into the upside-down church. This will be a dare in our Truth or Dare game.”
“I guess. I’m still scared, though.” Courtney shrugged and gave a little smile.
“What about your mom, Sam? Isn’t she home?” Hannah asked. “If we sneak out and get caught, my parents will take my license away for a few weeks.”
“Please. She’s been in her room all day with another new boyfriend and a bottle of vodka. She’s passed out by now.”
The other girls sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. Sam’s home life was something they didn’t often talk about.
“It’s fine, you guys. Let’s go.” Sam led the way to the front door, and they crammed into Hannah’s Mini-Cooper.
***
“Okay, Hannah—turn into that driveway. We’ll park and walk the rest of the way. It’s just a little ways up the road.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere! I don’t like this,” said Courtney.
As Hannah drove up the driveway and through open iron gates, Courtney gasped.
“Why are we parking in a cemetery? Let’s park at the church!”
“We’re about to break into a church,” Sam said. “We don’t need cops seeing a car in their parking lot if they drive by. They don’t check the cemetery.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before, Sam. Have you?” Missy asked.
“I’ve only hung out here in the cemetery and gotten high. It’s peaceful. I’ve never been to the church, though.” She turned and looked at Courtney in the back seat. “It will be fine, Courtney. We’ll only stay long enough to grab a souvenir.”
Courtney sighed. “Okay, I guess.”
***
They walked through the cemetery, still wearing their jammie pants and tank tops. Although it was a warm night, Courtney rubbed her arms as if she were freezing. She couldn’t keep her head still; she looked all around the cemetery like she was expecting ghosts or zombie to chase them.
They walked on the road after leaving the cemetery. Cornfields lined both sides of the road, cornstalks towering over them. The girls chatted as they made their way to the church. Suddenly, Courtney stopped.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered.
“Hear what?” Missy asked. They stood silent. “There is nothing out there to hear, Courtney. You’re just spooking yourself.”
“I heard whispers in the cornfield. Like chanting or something. They sounded creepy!”
“Courtney, we all love ya, but you are getting on our nerves,” Hannah said. “Quit being such a scaredy-cat and try to have fun, okay?”
“Fine. But don’t blame me when something pulls you in there and you’re never seen again.”
Hannah and Sam looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “I saw that,” said Courtney from behind them.
***
Missy pulled on the gilded handle leading into the church. The tall oak door opened with a metallic screech.
The girls giggled nervously. “That was so loud,” Hannah whispered.
They stood in the foyer, looking at the main church area through glass doors. Candles flickered in sconces on the walls, giving just enough light to see inside. Rows of wooden pews led to a huge organ, watched over by Jesus on the cross.
“I bet that organ sounds beautiful,” said Chelsea. “I’d love to try it out.” Chelsea had played piano since she was a little girl and hoped to go to Juilliard one day.
Sam pointed at a set of stairs heading to the basement on the other side of the foyer. “Come on, let’s go.”
They tiptoed down the stairs, as silent as they could be.
“This is ridiculous. Why are we trying to be quiet if there isn’t anybody here?” asked Courtney. “Or is there? Sam, you said nobody would be here!”
“There shouldn’t be, Courtney. But, you know, maybe a priest comes in during the night sometimes to pray or something? Just calm down, nothing is going to happen.”
They got to the bottom of the stairs and looked around.
“I guess that’s where we go?” asked Missy, looking at the double doors at the end of the hallway.
“Well, there are no other doors down here, right?” Hannah walked over and looked in one of the rectangular windows, cupping her hands around her eyes. “It’s too dark to see anything.”
“We came here for a souvenir,” said Sam. “No use standing around. Let’s go in.”
They opened the double doors and walked into the room. There was no light at all, no windows to let the moon shine in.
“Let’s see if we can find a light switch,” said Hannah.
They felt along the walls, but there were no switches, just smooth walls. “Someone use the flashlight on their phone,” suggested Missy.
“Hang on.” Sam held hers up and swept it around the room. The faint light only cast shadows.
A piercing scream filled the room, making the girls jump.
“That was Courtney! Courtney, are you all right?” Hannah asked.
“I’m fine, Hannah.”
“Where are you? You sound like you’re across the room,” said Missy.
“What happened? Why did you scream? And why can’t we find a light switch?”
“So many questions, Sam! But I can help you with one of them.”
The room lit up with an eerie red glow. Courtney stood before them wearing a hooded black robe. Strangers in red hooded robes flanked her on either side, hands clasped to their chests. All of them, including Courtney, had their heads bowed, obscuring their faces. Then Courtney looked up at her friends, giving them a smile that chilled their spines.
“What the hell, Courtney? Is this a joke? A prank for my birthday?” asked Sam.
“Had you fooled, didn’t I? Acting so scared. The rumors about this being an “upside-down” church are true, obviously. And honestly, I acted scared so you would change your mind about bringing us here because I knew there was a meeting tonight. But you all kept making fun of me, so here we are.
And you know we can’t let you leave, right?”
“I don’t understand. What is happening, Courtney? This is insane!” Missy’s voice hitched with a small sob.
“How does it feel to be the one scared, Missy?” Courtney taunted. “Grab them.”
“What? Wait—” Sam felt strong hands grab her upper arms from behind. “Courtney, stop this!”
A cloth was shoved under her nose, and everything went black.
***
Terrified screams startled Sam semi-awake. She tried to focus, but everything was blurry. She sat up, realizing she was on top of a marble slab, dressed in a white gown.
“Hannah? Missy?” She looked around, and saw them on slabs also wearing white gowns, but theirs were covered in blood. Their throats had been slit almost to decapitation. Sam screamed, drawing Courtney’s attention. The red-robed figures were no longer with her; the two of them were alone with their dead friends.
“Hey, sleepyhead! Glad you’re up—we saved the birthday girl for last.” Courtney held a knife at her side, the blade dripping with her friends’ blood.
Sam sat up, and held onto the edge of the slap, her legs dangling. She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening.
“Why, Courtney? We’re friends. Hannah and Missy were your friends too.”
“There’s no such thing as friends, Sam. But I did try to keep you from coming here. So really, this is all your fault.” Courtney laughed at Sam’s incredulous expression. “Don’t worry. It only hurts for a few seconds.” She approached Sam and lifted the knife.
Sam lifted her leg and kicked Courtney in the stomach. Courtney dropped the knife and bent over, clutching her stomach. “Oh, you bitch!”
Sam jumped down and grabbed the knife. “Fuck you. I only invited you to my slumber party because I felt sorry for you!” She rammed the blade into Courtney’s back, shuddering and screaming at the chunk sound it made. She pulled it out and ran.
“Go get her before she gets out of the church!” Courtney screamed, blood bubbling out of her mouth. The red-robed strangers seemed to re-appear out of nowhere and ran after Sam.
***
Sam stopped beside a pew to catch her breath. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs and knew she wouldn’t make it outside before they caught her. “No, please,” she whispered. Then she noticed a door by the altar. She ran for it, her bare feet slapping on the tile floor. She pushed the horizontal metal bar and ran out into the cool air.
Right into Courtney.
She grinned at Sam, her teeth red with blood that dripped down her chin. “Here, I’ll take that.” She gently removed the knife from Sam’s clenched hand.
Sam’s arms were once again grabbed from behind, but she didn’t struggle. Her body went limp and she bent her head. Then she looked up with pleading eyes.
“Please, Courtney,” she whispered.
“Sorry, Sam.” She gestured to the figure holding Sam to go back into the church. She walked alongside them.
“I have to say, though—this has been one hell of a Truth or Dare game.”
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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Asena Lourenco @ElaLourenco @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 29, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

04_img_jan_rsSoul Collector
by Asena Lourenco

She stood there, unblinking.
As her eyes pierced my soul,
And in that moment, quickly sinking,
Was my body into stone,
And then the silver metal appeared,
Hiding behind her skin,
The one that was to be feared,
A blade with past of sin,
Strands of hair fell in front,
Of her obsidian eyes,
But the blade, all but blunt,
Reflected the dark inside,
From the room there came,
Silent but screeching calls,
Different but still the same,
Begging to leave those walls.
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 12 years old. She loves reading, playing Scottish traditional fiddle music on her violin, dancing, and martial arts as well as writing her own stories.

She would like to be a teacher and writer when she grows up. She also loves cats and babies!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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

Posted on January 28, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

01_img_jan_rsJagged
by Kim Richards

It was a stately place once—back when Virginia was a girl. Now the house’s exterior was just as worn and jagged as her body. The wrought iron bars, with their decorative curling pieces, kept the Unwanted Ones out. Those prevented them from ripping her flesh from her bones as they did the neighbors years back. Virginia still heard their screams when she closed her eyes. Damn memories! The bars also trapped her inside.
The bars never stopped Unwanted Ones from throwing rocks through the window glass. Shards reflected the dying world outside as they clung to the frame edges. Virginia didn’t come close enough to remove them. She couldn’t replace the glass anyway because she had none. Besides, when she tried to sweep up the broken pieces on the floor, Unwanted Ones threw themselves against the wrought iron as they lunged forward, reaching out towards her. She barely escaped the one with long arms. Now she kept the interior doors closed against the weather and herself out of sight.
On rare occasions, she came into the dining room to watch a sunset. Today was one of those times. She kept to the far wall and stepped lightly on bare feet. She never figured out if the Unwanted Ones could smell her but knew for certain they heard her moving. All it took was a slight creak of an aged floorboard to bring them snarling to the window.
Streaks of yellows and orange sunlight reflected across wispy clouds towards the horizon. Sunsets were her only source of beauty. She promised herself, she would watch one when her time came to leave her aged body with its aches and frailty. Now was that time.
Virginia decided it a week ago. She would choose the time and the way. She came every evening since to see if the sky was cloudy. She wanted the perfect sunset like this one. The moment she squeezed through the inner doorway and saw its brilliant splendor, she knew.
She tiptoed over to an old chair and gingerly sat on its rotted cushion. Then she took two little pink pills she saved just for this from her blouse pocket. She tossed them into her mouth and swallowed them dry. If all worked out as planned they would send her on her way just as the last color faded.
Suddenly the chair gave way from beneath her with a loud crack. She landed hard on the floor with another crack—this one from her hip. Within seconds one of the Unwanted Ones stood at the window growling.
“No, no, no,” Virginia whispered. “Get out of my view. I do not want you to be the last thing I see.”
Wincing from sharp pain, she rolled over and set her weight on the other hip. She slowly crawled towards the window.
The thing’s pale lips parted. It gnashed its jagged teeth at her. The long armed one strained to reach her to no avail.
Drawing near, Virginia removed her blouse and wrapped it tightly around one hand. She grasped a large glass shard from the floor and struggled to her knees. With her free hand, she took hold of one of the window frames and pulled her self to her feet. Then with her glass she slashed at the monster’s hands.
It howled but kept coming.
She wobbled on her unsteady body. Long Arms grabbed her by the hair. It yanked her towards the bars. She stumbled and nearly dropped her glass weapon. The two met face to face with only iron in between. Virginia raised her shard in both hands, not caring that one of them bled. With all her might, she brought the ‘blade’ down on his head.
He yelped and let go of her. He fell to one side. Virginia heard a thump as he hit the ground and fell silent.
Her hip gave way and she fell to the floor, among broken glass. She grew drowsy and knew her time approached. Then she looked up and smiled. There, upon the remaining glass pieces in the window frame, was the reflection of the gorgeous sunset. When the sun dipped it’s fiery head down beyond the horizon, it took her soul with it.

 

Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

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

Posted on January 27, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

04_img_jan_rsThe Cathedral
by Kathleen McCluskey

With a loud crash the old steel door came down. A cloud of dust swirling out revealed the cathedral and all of its treasures. The hunters were not interested in the cache of wealth that lay within. They were on a hunt quite different than monetary prizes, they were on a hunt for something far more dangerous and much less profitable.
 The beautiful cathedral ceiling was adorned with stained glass that had rested in place for centuries. The sunlight made prisms on the floor. They approached the platform that held the pulpit. Anderson swung his pick axe and the floor broke collapsing down. The hunter’s flashlights illuminated stairs. The priest blessed himself and spoke, “Careful, we know not where it will be resting.” The three men were determined to find and capture the being that could grant them power beyond any riches of the world.
Below the archaic cathedral was a labyrinth of corridors. The priest began to run with his rosary and large crucifix held out in front of him. The other two men began to chase. “Father, wait.” One man cried out. As they ran he could hear his name being called, over and over. Each time more seductively than the last. He couldn’t resist any longer and turned around. He was met with a large knife being pushed into his abdomen. The wraith cackled, “You fools will never take me.” She began to hum the Hickory Dickory Dock child’s song. “The clock strikes one and down you come…” She vanished. Anderson was next, she was saving the priest for her own play toy. Anderson met the same fate as the first man. She kissed him sexually as the life ran out of him. “I have your soul now and I will feast on it over and over again.” She appeared in front of the priest to make him slide to a stop. Her appearance to him was that of the last patient he had molested in the church hospital. “Do you like this form, priest? I chose it just for you.” She sealed the floor and began to play with the priest.
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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Bailey Hunter @DarkRecesses @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 27, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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RÓTA
by Bailey Hunter

For as long as the Gods and Mortals have existed, I ride. 
I am Róta. I am Valkyrie.
Long ago there were times of peace between the wars waged by Gods and men. A time when I my sisters and I would share in mead and tales of those we called home to Valhalla. We took lovers from both the heavens and the earth. We were strength, beauty, power – a sight to behold bearing down upon the battlefields claiming the final fates of men and Gods alike.
It is barely a memory now. My sisters are gone. Picked off like the ravens that flew in with us. As for the Gods, they are no more than words upon old pages, and in new songs. But the men… the men continue to wage war, and so I ride.
My throat is parched from a millennia of battle cries. My time for passion and revelry is over – dried to dust – an unslakable thirst is all that remains. 
The blood spills endlessly across the green of lush fields, and the amber sands of parched earth. As the bodies fall, I gallop hard through the screaming masses, choosing from the thousands who shall stay to fight again, and who shall be taken home. 
I pray that eventually I too will be called home for good, but until that glorious moment I ride alone, casting my judgement on who shall die this day, and every day forward.
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 Michelle Joy Gallagher @Aphelia @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 26, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Helena
by Michelle Joy Gallagher

Helena learned early on that silence was its own language. It overcame the joyful when words were insufficient. It paralyzed the fearful. Rage, in its greed, stole words directly from the throat. Much could be learned from silence, even the pauses between words. Silence had weight. It took up space. It had inflection.
The forest knew this language, which in its vastness and depth seemed to always carry a low hum. Wildlife rustled in the leaves. Birds heralded the sunrise and sunset. Creeks gurgled. Rivers roared. It was thrumming. A living, breathing thing. It too, used silence. As a clock. As a warning. As a weapon.
The absence of light worked in much the same way. The mere “absence” of light did not reference darkness. Darkness was its own animal. The absence of light; the artifacts of shadow left behind when light is obscured or bent in just the right way, the void beneath and behind real solid objects in the presence of light,  behave much the way silence does. Helena knew this too.
She sat by the humble fire she’d built out of the bramble of dead blackberry vine and dried pine branches. She fixed her gaze at her upturned, scarred palms and waited.
Embers swirled upward into the night sky, a supplication to the stars.
The trees cast long shadows in the presence of the flickering firelight, unearthly dark compared to the brilliance of the flames. It was there in the void the shadows carved into the pine needles and damp soil that she saw it emerge slowly, as if crawling out of a deep sleep.
None of her songs or her supplications soothed it, and it advanced across the clearing with frightening grace until it stood over her, a being crafted wholly out of corrupted dark.
It grabbed Helena by the neck with one practically formless hand and started to drag her back to the shadow it ascended from. It meant to take her through.
She gasped for air and struggled to pull herself away from the grip of the thing, but it had overpowered her easily. At the speed which this being moved, her  feet barely scraped the ground.
Helena went limp. Her arms fell to her sides in one helpless yaw that spoke of helplessness and dwindling will. Her right arm brushed against the ceremonial knife at her hip, snug in its leather sheath. Her father insisted she carry it when she went on her excursions. She had just sharpened it in anticipation of this one.
Only a few feet away from the void where she would invariably be dragged to whatever darkness and doom lay beyond it, she drove the knife into the back of the interloper, spilling the dark and rotten contents within it. It froze, soundlessly, and turned its masked face toward her.
Helena removed the knife from the thing and plunged the blade once, twice, a third time into the body of the thing until the blade and her hand was slick with vile muck. Over and over she stabbed it, cutting her hand on the blade as it slipped. Her blood mixing in a strange alchemy with whatever substance filled her captor. It only stood there holding her in its grip, observing. Finally she drove the blade deeply between what must have been ribs, breaking its grip on her neck. She fell backward in a daze, and found her focus just in time to see it disappear into the impossible gateway the shadow had provided.
Dawn broke, and she extinguished the sacred fire and headed back to the village.
Helena told no one what had transpired, but packed carefully all the herbs and tonics she might need for tonight. And her blade, which now carried an oily sheen that did not wash off.

Tonight, it would be back and she would be waiting.

Fiction © Copyright Michelle Joy Gallagher
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Michelle Joy Gallagher:
cafemacabre
Café Macabre

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

Available on Amazon!

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

Posted on January 26, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

01_img_jan_rsGemini
by Sheikha A.

Every bone in his body pounds for a shift –
don’t burn under the flame just yet – write
the words the way an ache is nursed aligned
in bizarre syntax; humans that evict the light
find a ground awash with logic – flame brewing
soil – seed gnawing compost – sprout rebelling
root; all it takes is a few words for planets to
combust, for a miracle to glide as a star-shard
through taper pathways, and then the moon
drops its dust on a decade as over wrung time.
Every bone knows fear as fraternal passage,
glowing community of misfits – burn and ache;
don’t burn, but burn under the shift – pounding
tradition; orbiting the surfer’s silver spiral, he rides
moon-tides; what remains is space, splinters
floating at the edge, him looking down at flowers
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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Christina Sng @ChristinaSng @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 25, 2020 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


04_img_jan_rsChurch-Safe
by Christina Sng

You tell me in all sincerity

This church-place is safe,
But how can it be when
Not all vampires believe
In God and the Trinity?

Let’s test this theory.

I’ll wait and watch till
The vampires draw near.
See, they’re already
Forcing open the door.

Go hide! Too slow.

They kill you before I can
Tear open their throats.
Sorry! Let me help you by
Making sure you don’t return.

Your blood. So tasty!

Now I need a new hideout
Before the rest find me here.
No one is sure if they turn cats.
Nine lives is enough. Thank you.

Fiction © Copyright Christina Sng
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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