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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_04_AugustLOHI Spy
by Ela Lourenco

Holding my breath as I tiptoe across the room, I make it to my usual spot without a sound. I know which path to take from the skylight to avoid the creaky loose floorboards – it has become second nature by now. Long months of patience, of waiting, watching, biding my time. Here, alone in the dark and dusty attic – pacing between four walls… something I had vowed never to experience again after three years locked in solitary… and yet this prison is by choice.
I silence my thoughts and snap out of my reverie as the front door shuts gently downstairs, quietly murmured instructions floating up to me, followed by the dull vibration of a car driving away. I peek through the gap between the beams as the teenage girl tucks the sweetest little cherub into bed. Too busy on her cell phone she barely even glances at the little one as she flicks the lights off and closes the door – no doubt impatient to get downstairs and call her equally vapid and self-absorbed friends for a late-night gossip.
Finally. Everything is in place. I have waited so long for everything to fall in place. I carefully ease the trapdoor to a side and glide down the ladder into her room. Her. My daughter. My flesh and blood. All auburn curls and soft cheeks. Taken from me unrightfully and given away to this family as though she were a mere possession to be passed around. Gently lifting my precious cargo, I inhale her sweet scent. Mommy is here dearest, and no one will ever part us again…
Fiction © Copyright Ela Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Ela Lourenco:

awakeningDragon Born: Book Three
Awakening

The Royal tournament, the Karnac, is fully underway. But there is deception and betrayal at every turn. Unseen dark forces are at play, both within the school grounds and out with. Even the Gods are unable to help when a new threat looms over them all.The very existence of Azmantium depends on Lara fully becoming the Child of Fire and casting aside the Shadows lurking in every corner of her beloved planet.Can she overcome the challenges that await? Will the Shadows cover the world in darkness? Only Lara and her friends can change the fate of Azmantium.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kyra Starr @Strawburrywine @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Image_03_AugustLOHBlame

by Kyra Starr

Fluorescent lights illuminate
my pallid translucent flesh
fingers raw from written walls
clawing to pause my descent
but I crave the ultraviolet luster
the echo of my leaden steps
each ragged breath I inhale
of your damp, decaying scent
In your atrocity you complete me
Their grisly horror, our symphony
We perform the role society cast
wearing vibrant costumes but no mask
I heard the warning, the foreshadowing
Your presentiment, a testament
But I’m infatuated, infected
and I cannot trust myself to stop
Yet trembling I hesitate
steadying myself on the banister
feeling the chill of cracked plastic
A second thought forgotten
I take the blame.
Fiction © Copyright Kyra Starr
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Kyra would like to invite you to visit
Space and Time Magazine

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_02_AugustLOHThe Hogs Ate Ashes
by Elaine Pascale

“The hogs ate ashes,” Sidney said, clutching her teddy bear to her small chest as they sat in the basement, awaiting the storm.
It was true: the drought had been particularly bad, and all the animals hunted unsuccessfully for plants and roots to gnaw on. While the horses and goats grew razor thin, the hogs remained plump.
“The hogs ate ashes,” the girl repeated. They must have been eating something. They did not whine from hunger as the cows did. Or, as the people did.
They sat in the basement, the group of them. They had been gathered by the well-meaning counsel that felt the town hall was the soundest building and the safest spot for them. They were banded together by fear, but honestly had little concern for each other.
“The hogs ate ashes,” Sidney was looking at Ellie even though her mother had asked her not to. Everyone avoided Ellie. They knew she was capable of black magic. They had heard she had made a pact with the Devil.
Before the storm, during the drought, children had disappeared, and they blamed Ellie. They claimed she held sacrificial ceremonies.  They thought she made a pact for rain. She needed her crops to grow more than anyone. She was widowed and no one in town wanted to do business with her because of her relationship with the Devil. She needed to be able to ship her crops out; she needed the rain. They blamed her while the children continued to disappear until, finally, Ellie’s own daughter had disappeared as well.
“The hogs ate ashes.”
A few people “shushed” the girl as they felt the storm growing closer.
Someone had suggested that Ellie’s daughter had been taken in retribution.  After the girl had disappeared it had rained. It had rained for so long that they began to curse it. Now that the storm was coming, they longed for days of just plain rain.
“The hogs ate ashes.” Ellie nodded at Sidney when the girl said this. Ellie understood; she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, and the storm picked up.
Then the rest of them understood. Sidney wasn’t saying “ashes.”
“The hogs ate Ashley,” she was saying, staring at the woman whose eyes remained closed. She was confessing, putting into words what she had witnessed, what they had done to the woman’s daughter. The girl was confessing in the hopes of stopping the storm.
Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of  Pixabay.com

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More from Elaine Pascale:

The Blood Lights

They victimize all…

Jezzie Mitchell is in anguish; with her brother’s murder still on her mind, she’s noticed strange behavior among the girls in the residential treatment center where she works. Is there a connection between the contagion on Cape Cod and the deadly Bahamas vacation that changed her life?

Jezzie reaches out to former lover Lou Collins, a scholar who has chased proof of the lights for decades. Will he be able to solve the mystery of the lights in time?

Intensely competitive, reporter Bridgette Collins knows the lights are a way to secure fame in her career. And while it’ll put the final nail into the coffin of her ex-husband’s career, she vows to know the secrets of the lights. Even if it means unleashing a world-wide epidemic…

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_01_AgustLOHThe Marauder
by Kathleen McCluskey

The final soul had been brought aboard. Some of them men were thankful that the day had finally come to face the beast. Others sobbed as they knew it was time to face all of the crimes they had inflicted upon an unsuspecting victim. The captain brought out the shackles and the men were harnessed to each other. They walked as a single unit, clanging and banging as the ship did its best to stay afloat in the sea swells. The captain was melancholy as he knew that this would be his final trip. He was the first one stuck on the cursed marauder. He wanted so badly to be back on his own vessel with his beloved Jolly Roger flying above.  He knew some of the men on a personal level before they were flung into the darkness of the unholy galleon.
Down, down the steps of the massive ship the men stumbled until they reached the underbelly of the vessel. The men had never seen this part of the boat. It’s where the necromancer of the sea dwelled. The tempest looked at the prisoners. She shook her head in disgust. She knew of the devilish acts the men had committed. She walked passed them and flicked at their long beards, their unkempt hair and pulled on their shabby clothes. Turning her back on them, she raised her arms. A light began to emit from the wall of the ship as a large crack began to form. The men began to get frightened, “She will sink us”, one man shouted. The light grew brighter and the men could see a shadow coming out of the vortex. He pushed his way through ring. His large tentacles emerged first. Some of the men began to cry, some prayed to their deity while others were paralyzed with fear. The beast was in full view now, his grey and yellow body filled the wall across from them. The priestess spoke, “Here are your fifty men that I had bargained with you. Consider this debt paid. I will assume that I am free now.” The beast looked at her and she vanished. The vessel along with all of the prisoners fell to the sea floor where the beast could eat their souls at his leisure.
Returning to the surface was the ship, without a captain and searching for her new crew.
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 Scarlett R. Algee @ScarlettRAlgee @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_04_AugustLOHStrong as Marble, Warm as Blood
by Scarlett R. Algee

She is perfect, because I made her so.
Only my hands have worked the blue-veined, dove-grey marble I chose for her body. Only I look upon the fluting of her cheekbones and the impeccable dimpling beneath her lower lip, the width of every eyelash, every strand of every curl that falls over her forehead and tumbles to her waist. Only I have weighed the curves of her breasts and squeezed the span of her hips so often that their dimensions are like old acquaintances.
Delicately I hollowed out her nostrils, the near-translucent edges of her ears, seeking to put into her every ounce of the divine ideal I never yet discerned in her fleshly, breathing counterparts. I counted off every hair in each eyebrow, rasped her nails and the edges of her philtrum to fingertip-width perfection, measured out the space between her thighs.
And then, then, the final thing: paying out coin to whores who were baffled by my need to sketch their secret parts, accepting their scorn that I might chisel out all her intimate depths and polish their surfaces to glistening—that I might test them and count myself satisfied.
And now—I pray, I sacrifice, that the gods who once breathed life into a handful of dust can breathe it into this woman I coaxed forth from stone, whose sleek limbs gain more sheen with each sanding.
Because she is perfect. Because she is everything.
With another prayer upon my lips I splay my hand across the cool concavity of her belly, trace my thumb over the dip of her navel. Do I imagine the shudder in the marble, the flush of warmth beneath my palm?
But I look at her face and see color breaking out amid the grey, the drape of her hair softening as black spreads out from the roots. Another shudder and the smooth orbs of her eyes are wetly reflective, sclera and iris, white and topaz-brown and angry.
“You,” I whisper, and red lips part over sharp white teeth, and the noise from her throat is a growl.
I step back, but her perfect hands are around my neck: soft as silk, hard as stone.
Fiction © Copyright Scarlett R. Algee
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Scarlett R. Algee:

The Lift: Nine Stories of Transformation, Volume One

The hall is dark and the overhead light flickers. Sounds echo, and there’s a creaking and clanging that gets louder as you stand in the semi-dark. The elevator opens and you’re offered a ride. Step inside and ride it to the story chosen for your transformation. Don’t be afraid, for Victoria, the mysterious girl who operates The Lift, waits to guide you. Set in the same world as the award nominated audio drama, The Lift’s first written anthology features nine all new stories by fan favorite writers and special bonus content by creators Daniel Foytik and Cynthia Lowman. The collection is brought to life with beautiful illustrations by Jeanette Andromeda for each story.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_03_AugustLOH

Echoes
by Naching T. Kassa

I am in the subway when they attack.
The creatures walk on two legs, and their grey skins shine under the fluorescent light. Wide, grinning mouths display small, triangular teeth. Teeth they use to rip, rend, and tear into my fellow travelers. Shrieks of anguish fill the air.
An elderly woman and a young boy dash by, pursued by three monsters. I rush to their aid, but my feet slide on the blood-slick concrete and I fall hard. Pain shoots through my ankle.
I look up as one creature falls upon the old woman. She screams at the boy, telling him to run. He hesitates, then obeys.
The monsters tear the woman’s arm from her body. They swarm her, choking off her screams. I turn away.
The boy darts into an archway which leads to the stairs. He doesn’t see the creature which follows. I limp after them.
Dim light reveals a series of steps and concrete walls. A maw of darkness waits at the top. Footsteps echo.
I grasp hold of the railing and use it to pull myself up the stairs. The sounds of flight have ceased. The silence grows deafening. Still, I climb.
Within a few minutes, I reach the top. Outside the shadowy archway, a smear of blood marks the wall. Whether it belongs to the boy, I don’t know. I pause before the blackness, my ears attuned to the slightest sound. Looking back, I see nothing. No monster has trailed me.
In another life, I’d been a hunter of men, my talents purchased by dollars wired to my Swiss bank account. But the blood on my hands ended that time, compelling me to forsake those skills. Now, they’ve returned to me, like echoes in the dark.
I have no weapon. I must find one.
My pockets yield little. Eighty-five cents in change. A lighter. Cigarettes. A few jelly beans. A small bottle of spray-on hand sanitizer. It’s not the arsenal I need.
The hollow repeat of a strangled cry sounds before me. Time has slipped through my fingers and I must use what I have. I plunge into the dark, the lighter in hand.
The flame flickers as fresh air washes over me. The city lies in darkness. To my left, the light bathes naked grey skin. The creature growls as it struggles to reach into the space behind a soda vending machine. The boy screams.
I pull the sanitizer from my pocket and add a scream of my own.
The beast turns on me, forgetting the boy. It charges.
I brace for the attack.
When it reaches me, I spray the face and thrust the lighter toward its mouth. It isn’t as good as hairspray, but it does the job. The thing ignites.
It falls to the ground, howling in pain. The creature has become a bonfire, its skin a natural accelerant. The light it casts reveals what waits in the dark. Hundreds of snarling and tooth-filled faces.
My ankle prevents my running.
The boy peeks out from behind the machine. I keep my eyes focused on him as the creatures surround me, their circle growing tighter and tighter.
In the boy’s face, I see the echo of every life I’ve ever taken. I hope—I pray—one life will equal many.
They take me as he melts into the darkness.
Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from Naching T. Kassa:

image (10)Kill Switch

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

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sonora Taylor @sonorawrites @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_02_AugustLOH

Lock the Cellar Door
by Sonora Taylor

“Hurry Sandi! Get downstairs!”
Sandi rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and in the resulting blur, she saw her mother standing panicked in the doorway. “What is it, Mama?” she asked.
“Get downstairs, honey. It’s a big one this time. I can hear the wind.” Her mother ran into Sandi’s room and pulled at her arm. “Come on, move!”
“I’m coming!” But Sandi had already been yanked from the bed. She ran behind her mother, through the hall and towards the front door. They had to cross the yard to get to the storm cellar – a design that Sandi didn’t quite understand, but one she didn’t question.
“It’s coming,” her mother said as she opened the door. Sandi followed behind, then skidded to a stop behind her mother, who stood and stared at the field beyond their driveway.
“It’s here,” her mother whispered. “It’s coming down the street. My God – these twisters just won’t quit.”
Sandi looked out over the fields. It was a sunny day. The trees were rooted, and the dust in the road lay still and untouched.
Sandi knew there wasn’t a tornado, just like there hadn’t been in all the times her mother came to her in a panic and told her to get in the cellar. It was an old cellar with an old lock, one that broke off ten tornado scares ago from overuse. Now Sandi knew to keep a wedge between the door and the ground until her mother calmed enough to go back upstairs. She usually stayed calm for a week or so. Her mother hadn’t panicked in three weeks since the last one, and Sandi had dared to hope that she was getting better.
Sandi should’ve known better than to hope. “Come on!” her mother said, pulling Sandi with a jerk. “We have to go!” Her mother darted towards the cellar. Sandi followed behind, walking carefully down the stairs into the old, musty room where she and her mother would wait out her mother’s delusions.
“Hurry, honey.” Her mother hurried her inside, then looked up at the door. She froze. “Light,” she whispered.
Sandi turned, and saw her mother stare at the tiny sliver of light that the wedge allowed in through the door.
“No light can get in here,” her mother said as she ran back up the steps. “The wind’ll creep in and open the door!”
Panic seized Sandi’s heart. “Mama, don’t!” she cried as she ran towards the stairs.
“We have to lock the cellar door! The tornado’s coming!”
“There’s no -”
The thwack of the door cut Sandi off. Darkness snuffed out her mother from view, but Sandi could still detect her triumph.
“There! Now nothing can get in,” her mother said.
Sandi leaned against the wall. Tears stung her eyes, and she did her best to take slow, shallow breaths. Hyperventilation would only speed up her suffocation – that is, if hunger or thirst didn’t get her first.
“Don’t be afraid, honey,” her mother said. Her mother’s hand reached through the dark and cupped her elbow. “You’re safe now.”
Fiction © Copyright Sonora Taylor
Image courtesy of  Pixabay.com

 

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More from Sonora Taylor:

Without Condition

Cara Vineyard lives a quiet life in rural North Carolina. She works for an emerging brewery, drives her truck late at night, and lives with her mother on a former pumpkin farm. Her mother is proud of her and keeps a wall displaying all of Cara’s accomplishments.

Cara isn’t so much proud as she is bored. She’s revitalized when she meets Jackson Price, a pharmacist in Raleigh. Every day they spend together, she falls for him a little more — which in turn makes her life more complicated. When Cara goes on her late-night drives, she often picks up men. Those men tend to die. And when Cara comes back to the farm, she brings a memento for her mother to add to her wall of accomplishments.

Cara’s mother loves her no matter what. But she doesn’t know if Jackson will feel the same — and she doesn’t want to find out.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_01_AgustLOH

Monster Apparent
by Angela Yuriko Smith

Today
I found the
perfect monster.
She was flawlessly
self entitled like a Barbie
complete with Malibu car and keys.
Her hair cost more than groceries.
Her nails cost as much as electricity.
Her clothes could have been a way out.
Typical monster, it was her right to have
everything. Her right that I should have
nothing. Her right to be a typical monster.
She thinks there is no judgement for the
beautiful. Those with funds get to be fun
with no consequence. She doesn’t think.
Her party and my parting coincided when
a text, a beer and three “of the red ones”
hit her all at once, and then she hit me.
She thinks she left me behind, bleeding
and forgotten. A sin on the sidewalk. An
“oopsie” for therapy. She doesn’t think.
I will be the reminder in her perfect color
coordinated house with the current year
incriminating car with matching accessories.
I’ll show her that beauty is only skin deep
by taking hers. That consequence can
follow you home. That she had no right.
I will leave her to hang in her bay window
soft skin turning hard and brown in the sun.
Like a cocoon full of inner monster. Like
a regretful chicken coming home to roost.
There she will wither, the strips of her
becoming leather to match her couch
and it will be her right to rot, finally the
Monster Apparent. And my right to live.
Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

The Bitter Suites

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

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_02_JulyLOHDays End
by Asena Lourenco

The shining blue popping out bright,
As they float about in the dead of the night,
Glowing like stars and the large, strong sun,
And all coming together as a force, as one,
But until the day of death which sadly came as told,
Removing all livings things with hearts of gold,
Gone with the blue butterflies flapping their wings,
Gone with the mushrooms and other beautiful things,
Gone with all life and all creatures around,
Gone with all music, and every single sound,
Stolen from whom but the selfish, greedy king,
The leader of all, those dead and living,
The lord of all has taken from us,
The holy one, Christ, our very own Jesus.
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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lydia Prime @LydiaPrime @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_04_JulyLOH

Next Meal
by Lydia Prime

“Hello?” Whimpering from the darkness startled cautious visitors; their footsteps came to a standstill. “Is, is someone there?” The voice asked weakly. 
Twenty feet from the opening, they huddled close together, not sure where the voice had come from. A summer breeze blew through the open room, wafting the scent of fear and sweat toward the damp chasm.
“I can hear you, please, help me,” the voice pleaded and the feet crept closer, certain a little girl was calling to them. Heel to toe, they made it to the edge and peered down, their flashlights just barely able to penetrate the darkness; perhaps a trick of the light, but one was certain something skittered across the ground from one corner to the other.
“Hurry, please!” She called out again; her voice was beginning to sound impatient and less distressed. The men looked at each other before deciding which one of them would go down there and save the girl. With a heavy sigh, the smaller of the two began his descent into the darkness
CRACK. CRUNCH.
“Help me!” He shouted to his friend. The sound of flesh tearing from bone echoed through the cavernous pit; a scream from below drove right through the man trembling above. Hesitantly, he shined his light below and saw his friend scattered all over the floor and walls. His breath caught in his throat, Where was the … thing that did this!?
Rapid scraping against metal; it was coming. His mind blank, his body failing to remember how to move, to scream; helpless and frozen he stayed as a white creature exited the concrete opening. It had the horns of a stag and the face of a decomposing ram; its slender body turned, showing the butchery that covered its matted fur. Tears began to well in the man’s eyes as it showed off knifelike claws, tapping them together and watching as the crimson bits dribbled from each one. 
“Delicious, but still…” came the warbled female voice, as its red eyes locked on its next meal.
Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Lydia Prime:

Lydia grew up in a small, ‘Mayberry,’ sort of town, in New Jersey. She thoroughly enjoys gummy bears and laughing through the darkest depths of life. More often than not, she writes about demons and monsters, however, being a recovering addict, she likes to turn inner demons into fearsome foes to be fought beyond the constraints of the mind.

Please visit Lydia on Facebook for more info. 

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