Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elizabeth H. Smith @bethsmithwrites @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Detestation
by Elizabeth H. Smith

I deplored the nightmare behind the veil of my eyes. Its vile nature scorched me from within. This rotten body was no more than a wasted sack of illness and suffering. One that couldn’t be allowed to go on. There was no meaning in my configuration, no worth in my brittle structure; I was no more a person than mildew spreading in the dark. That is where I belonged.

I’ve fouled many another; my hands were not clean. I’ve brought destruction upon brilliant futures with smiling faces. Their ghosts only grinned with the madness of injustice. They seethed through gritted teeth and their eyes bulged, furious and red. And if rage failed to consume them, they simply passed away time in crushing defeat, weary legs carrying them down roads of despair.

The depravity of my inner-self wasn’t hidden by the suit of skin I wore; I was never one to portray anything but the monster within—a creature of such horrid nature it should have been put down long ago, quick and without hesitation, lest if infect its neighbors with its inherent disease. Sickly flesh, filthy mind, wicked deeds.

So I removed that suit until nothing remained but the brittle bones within, left to lie untended, unloved, and unmourned.

.

line_separator2

More About Elizabeth H. Smith:
Elizabeth H. Smith is a storyteller who writes while trying to keep her cat, Luna off the keyboard. The musical group, Rasputina is her muse. She was born in the state of New York and would never feel at home anywhere else.

line_separator2

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kendra Smart @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Adventure IS The Final Problem  
by Kendra Smart 
 

Sweet slow dances in summer rain, a promise of love forever unchanged. The way time stopped inside your arms was frightening, for nothing existed but the light of discovering myself in your eyes. Memories of hushed fever dreams and wonderland wishes, a mesmerizing trance seduced by gentle kisses. Time and again this dance has brought tears, a shimmering veil to the young bride’s faces. Moments of love and gardens of light, smalltown love on a Saturday night. 

Nico Bailey captured it all behind her lense. An eye for the emotions and an ace at getting the perfect shot, Nico found her requests to work at all manner of events wanting photographs, but the events she found herself most at were definitely weddings. Lavish celebrity weddings, royal weddings, even the occasional aristocrat or senator got her handles and contacts. 

Nico had watched her grandfather before her capturing moments with his own eagle eye. The way he could set a scene had always fascinated her. His eye for detail had made her set her own standards of checks and balances. Always come prepared, remember how important it is to be there for the moment but to never distract from the shot. Remember the focus of the shot. Steady yourself and wait for the perfect time. 

Carpenters would give the advice, “Measure twice, cut once.”, and her grandfather had been a man of similar spouts of wisdom. He had always been ready with a mantra, or a quip. Some remark or fable, a story to spell out the dangers and the how’s and why’s of the world. Nico had once made the joke that the day she found a problem that he didn’t have a parable for… would be the day he died. 

And it was. 

When Herold Reginald Daulton had passed, there was no story to give her comfort. No joke or lesson learned. Just a mantle that was left with no one to steal in and find the purpose and duty. If she couldn’t find the joy within her, she would bring a smile to others. In the way her grandfather taught her. Nico created stories with her shots. 

The man was adorned with the right sign. She went through the database in her mind going through her checklist. The sign was correct, a purple petunia upon the lapel. She had lined up the shot, held her breath, and readied herself several times as the ceremony went on.  The bride held great malice towards this man, Nico was to make the kill painful, as painful as possible.  

Her marksman rifle magazine held 20 rounds and had been equipped with the bipod for stability, a riflescope for long range accuracy. She heard the strings begin as Vivaldi’s Spring began, even from here the notes rang true. Like the birds on the wind, the high notes sang. Like water trickling down a brook, the piano came in and there was her moment. Time to take the first shot. 

A crescendo of panic set in amongst the party as Nico watched her first shot take out the thumb of the man sending it flying atop a sorbet dessert. His skin paled beautifully as the spray shot out everywhere. 

In quick succession Nico had rounded off three more shots, one after another taking out the three long fingers of the man’s left hand. Almost a sullen sound had been taken by the strings and she was lost amongst the sadness of the violins as she watched the man feel each shot. She was careful. Surgical in her placement. He would die, yes. But not yet. Nico had been expert so as not to explode his hand. 

The bride had been shielded by her husband, but the smile she wore, hidden by the chaos and panic of those around her, was one of satisfaction. The smile the cat wore as it rose from the grave with the renewed knowledge of life. 

Nico smiled too, she really loved the path her life took sometimes. Five more shots, only one finger left. The man lay gasping. Ashen and balmy from the exertion of pain and stress his body was feeling. She could see the pleases and prayers coming from his lips but they were falling on deaf eyes and numb ears. She waited for the final signal from the bride, and it came, the bride laid her hand against the back of her new husband and with the twitch of a finger, suddenly below lay a man with none. 

Nico began the work of cleaning her area. Wiping down the gun and properly putting everything back in place. 

A true ghost in the paperwork and mortal world of man, she worried little of DNA but the process was the process. A systematic serial killer who had found her love in her work a little too much, so disbarred and dishonorably discharged…but the skills remain, even in death. 

Her code of honor led her, her attention to detail and O.C.D. made it to where her demons danced perfectly. Those in the know knew how to reach her. Her resume spoke for itself in the papers and splayed on the news. Horrible acts at countless events. Perspective. 

At least her actions were out in the light not hidden away in computers and dark mental closets. The people she took out had caused irreparable harm to many, she was little more than a clean up crew, ensuring that the trash was fully taken out. 

A ping lit up her phone as Nico made her way to the car that lay just a bit away. A new shadow joined the legion behind her, number 309 would make friends with the other souls she led to their doorway. Just a few more to go before she could unload her following. Her duster caught the wind as she walked through the woods, the shadows making their way behind her some as far back as the wedding…still dancing through the tile Colonnade.

Fiction © Copyright Kendra Smart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
line_separator2

More from author Kendra Smart:

je

Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology

A collection of poetry.

Just Emotions‘ is exactly as it states, a group of writers who had feelings they wanted to express in poem form. Inside, there are a range of emotions to explore. Each writer has given a bit of themselves to you, each in their own way.

We hope that you enjoy these writings and that among the poems you may find some thing you can identify with or relate to. Thank you for giving us this chance to open the catacombs and share with you.

Available on Amazon!  

line_separator2

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

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Thing in the Walls   
by Kathleen McCluskey

Miley explored abandoned hospitals, factories and even a church with its altar split in half but this place felt different. Older. Hungry. Waiting. She broke the lock and entered.

When she first stepped inside, the building smelled of rust and old stone. Dust briefly choked the beam of her flashlight. Though the thrill of exploring a new place prickled her skin, the deeper she walked the more it felt like unseen eyes trailed her every step. Her excitement was slowly souring to unease. She nervously looked back at the broken lock and open door, sighed loudly and chuckled. A laugh that seemed to echo and warp against the walls. She shook it off and continued into the darkness.

She began to climb a large set of metal stairs, spotted with rust and grime, groaning loudly as she placed her foot on the first step. Dust plumed with every step as Miley climbed the stairwell.

Her flashlight beam skittered across the walls, her normal exploratory nature had been replaced with one of anxiety. There was something wrong with this building. A gouge caught her eye. Long. Deliberate scratches, not the random scrawls of rats or the homeless. She brushed away the plaster dust with her sleeve.

DON’T LET

The words made her chest tighten. She lifted her beam higher, but the gouges ended there. Just crumbling wall. She shone the beam down the darkened stairwell, the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention.

A few steps more. The light flashed over another piece of plaster.

IT FOLLOW

Her breath hitched. She stopped and listened. She could hear a faint dragging, like something crawling inside of the walls. She pressed her palm against the plaster. It vibrated softly beneath her hand. Breathing. Her light slipped further up the stairwell. Another gouge.

YOU DOWN

The full message sank in, carved one fragment at a time. Like somebody had clawed it into existence while running the same path she was on. A cold shiver ran down her back.

Don’t let it follow you down.

The wall behind her gave a soft groan. Dust sifted down. She froze, fighting the urge to turn. In the edge of her vision the plaster seemed to bulge, something shifted beneath the surface. She bolted down two flights and stopped.

The stairwell narrowed as she reached the landing. Pale light streaked through the cracked window, washing across the steps like salvation. She staggered toward it. Relief stirred inside of her until she looked into the glass. She felt as though all the blood had drained from her body, she stood frozen.

It didn’t show the street outside. It showed the stairwell behind her. In the reflection, she wasn’t alone. Something pale and jointed clung to the wall. Its limbs were too long, bent at awkward angles, like a spider crushed flat against a surface yet somehow still moving. Its fingers, too many of them, sank into the plaster like it was warm clay. Its body pulsed with slow, spasming jerks, dragging itself forward, its soft sounds echoing like gunshots. Its faceless head rose to the level of her own.

Her heart seized. She spun around, nothing but cracked plaster.

She turned back to the window. The thing had shifted closer in the reflection, so close it seemed to brush the hair on the back of her head. The glass shuddered under her breath, fogging from her panic.

Scratches erupted beside her, gouges carving deeper and deeper into the wall. The letters drag downward, trembling as though carved by desperate, frantic hands. 

YOU CAN’T LEAVE

The stairwell rattled, dust rained down. Miley ran, plunging downward, the beam of her flashlight bouncing off the walls. Her lungs burned, her chest threatening to tear open with every gasp but the walls wouldn’t stop vibrating. Louder and louder. More lines etched themselves into the wall in frantic, jerking lines.

DON’T LOOK BACK

Her body screamed to obey. But terror made her turn. That was when the wall opened.

Something forced its way through. Fingers first, long and gray, bending like wires. Then an arm, slick and wet, then another and another. It peeled itself from the wall as though it had lived inside, waiting. The sound was wet, ripping, stone and flesh tearing at once.

Miley screamed and stumbled down the stairs. The stairwell groaned as if alive around her, every surface cracking, every wall bleeding dust.  She clutched the railing until the rust bit her palms, she slipped, slamming her head into the steps.

When she raised her head, the walls in front of her were splitting open, the thing’s limbs unfurling on either side like a rib cage. Closing in. Her flashlight spun from her hand. Its beam catching the final words etched large enough to cover the wall.

YOU BELONG HERE

Then the walls folded shut.

Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 
line_separator2

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!

line_separator2

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

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Of Sacrifice and Regret
by Kim Richards

Born of roots, she died and was buried. Those who sacrificed her relished in the blessings heaped upon their village. Plentiful crops and vanquished ruffians were common. Too common so that in three generations, the people forgot who she was and how they came by the blessings. They stopped praying and leaving ten percent of their bounty at the feet of the ancient sequoia tree. The village elders buried her beside it long ago and now those roots cradled her corpse gently.

Realizing the villagers neglect, the sequoia’s spirit stirred. The pact was no more. Its roots plunged their tips into her body. Dark sap pumped into her veins, slowly like the molasses used in the villager’s bread. Then, in the midst of the new moon’s darkness, the roots parted the damp soil and lifted her up. The movement sent the night crawlers fleeing.

As the roots withdrew from her body, she trembled in the crisp night air and struggled to stand. Where did the peace of death, the soft bed of roots go? She tilted her head upward. Overhead, leaves rustled, giving her the tree spirit’s instruction.

Clad only in a red woolen scarf, woven by her mother as a gift for her sacrificial daughter, she pulled it close over her withered shoulders. With a long, loud, and angry moan, she shambled off towards the village. The tree spirit sighed. Soon the village would remember…and regret their arrogance.

Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
line_separator2

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

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Paperback Tigers  
by Alex Grehy

It is the nature of trees to stand,

to endure, slow thoughts hidden

from fast, impatient predators, us.

It is the nature of humankind to

assume, asinine, that these ancient 

beings, standing voiceless, cannot attack.

Deep in the forest the trees hurl their

bark to the floor, imbue it with life and their

observed wisdom, to form skull and bone.

Leaves drape paperbark skeletons, stored

solar energy lights their terrible eyes, they

see all, hear all, feel the woodland’s fear.

The tree tigers hunt, revenge satisfies their

appetite, briefly, but how many trees were

murdered in the eons of the forest’s life?

Cut the trees? Hunger is greater

Burn the forest? Vengeance is hotter

Pave the land? Claws are sharper.

The soft-footed tree tigers draw power

from the tree’s mycelial bonds. Run,

atone, attack, there is no escape. 

.

Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

line_separator2

More from author Alex Grehy:

Last Species Standing

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

Available on Amazon!

line_separator2

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 Marge Simon @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Hidden Figures 
by Marge Simon 

There are three of them.

Tall shadows fading in and out of view

Before your eyes.

Thin & long

you discover them

when a shaft of a streetlight

pushes them away

They’re still there

moving back & forth

on the smooth walls just ahead

where only you

see their forms

You know you can

make them jump

if you want

With practice

you can have them

do more

maybe something

dangerous

maybe worse

wait for a passerby

extend your hand.

Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 
line_separator2

More from Marge Simon:

MargeSimon_CastFromDarkness

Cast from Darkness
by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

Cast from Darkness is another triumphant collaboration between award-winning Speculative poets, Marge Simon and Mary Turzillo.

The poetry includes themes running the spectrum of the speculative genres and forms ranging from the haiku through many nuances of vere libre to the prose poem.

Available on Amazon!

 

line_separator2

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

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Stairs Remember Well
by Kim Richards

Oh, the things which took place in that grungy stairwell. So many stolen kisses and caresses in the corner; the lovers ignoring anyone climbing the stairs. Patchouli perfume filled the air. So did the knowing giggles.

Friends sat upon the steps consoling one another after a bad break up with hugs and strong alcohol. Wails echoed off the walls. They washed the floor with their tears; then dirtied it again with vomit.

Someone once wound black and orange crepe paper around the railing in October and placed a pair of leering Jack-O-Lanterns on the floor in that lover’s corner. Someone else added a bouquet of orange and yellow marigolds to the display. Then the light of flickering blood red candles danced across the walls.

Many nights music, heavy thrumming beats, vibrated the walls. Crooning guitar melodies traveled down, echoing in the stairwell. Voices in joyful song, sometimes growling metal lyrics, sometimes repetitive rapping phrases floated along like clouds.

There were celebrations aplenty. Confrontations occasionally. All of the things which happen when humankind interact. The stairwell witnessed it all.

There came a time when protest posters and slogan graffiti covered the walls. Those who put them there, threw open the window and leaned out to shout at the unjust world beyond. Hot anger and despair like ashes made the stairwell an oppressive place to stop so many took the steps as fast as they could with their heads bent low.

The time a predator moved in, blood flowed down the steps like a syrupy waterfall. The fearful moved away. Those unable to leave and despairing the lack of enforcement assistance banded together. There are pockmarks on the walls from the gunfire still. They buried his bruised and broken body in the basement.

As the building aged, so the stairwell became dingy. Often syringes and bits of blackened foil occupied the corner where the pumpkins once stood. Today a body clad in only shredded jeans and one filthy sock slumped at the foot of the stairs next to a discarded Narcan container.

People stumbling down the stairs did not stop to check on him. They stepped around and moved on. If he were alive, none of them had time to spend or the inclination to be involved. They were on a schedule to get out. Out of the stairwell. Out of the building. Out of the city before the next drone strike hit.

Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
line_separator2

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

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

A Mirror Meets a Girl
by Angela Yuriko Smith

The reflection, a girl, omnipotent with cause and effect, cold feet, alone, death. She doesn’t work for the meritocracy because inevitability and complacency are for winners. She is the grindstone, a loser forfeiting nothing, a servant of anarchy until…

… she sees her reflection and a voice screams, rough like stone made molten, lava sliding from her ear holes, rising from her throat like an objection, a rejection to escape from her soul, still steaming from giving a little life to another: a small cost here, a hand up there because in giving it’s unfair until the second when the last breath snaps a nerve and that voice is a feast of karma ripping through the veil with discordant sacred symphony to say… 

I will fill your empty bowl with a return of nothing and feed it back to you until you burst.

A girl thinks on that
and feels her soul untether—
her end wreckoning.

line_separator2

More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

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

line_separator2

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

DB or Not DB… 
by Rie Sheridan Rose

Cold, dark November…

Washington skies…

They believed my story,

Convinced by my eyes.

They believed in the bomb

I said that I’d made,

So, they gave me the money—

The ransom was paid.

I lowered the stair, and jumped

Into history—

Over 50 years later,

My fate’s still a mystery…

But the sad truth is,

I never hit ground.

I caught in this tree,

And will never be found.

All that is left

Is a bit of a grin…

And ripe speculation

Of where I have been.

The money was lost,

And little’s turned up.

Just a few bills that were

Found by a pup…

I don’t begrudge the kid

What he got.

The profit he made

Was still not a lot.

And it wasn’t as if

It would do me much good…

My life ended here,

That night in the wood.

.

Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of
Pixabay.com
line_separator2

More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

519RiHK+1wL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_

Overheard in Hell:
Dark Poetry

Poems exploring hell and damnation. Tales of sorrow, vengeance, betrayal, and redemption. Ghosts, ghouls, and demons stalk these pages. Don’t read in a lonely house…in a darkened room by a single candle…

…unless you like the touch of an icy finger up your spine.

Available on Amazon!

line_separator2

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

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Corridor of Unmaking   
by Kathleen McCluskey

The corridor yawned bright before me, endless, silent. The stone pillars rose like teeth, tall and pristine, chewing away at my shadow as I staggered forward. My wings are already gone. They had been ripped from my spine at the gates, leaving two raw pits that still oozed molten light. The smell was unbearable. Scorched feathers. Charred marrow. Burning skin.

Shapes flickered along the walls. Those who had fallen before me. Their bodies jittered in and out of existence. Faces tearing and reforming like torn film reels. One dragged itself on hands that had melted into the tiles. Another stumbled on horribly broken legs, bones folding like wet parchment, leaving only a husk crawling on its elbows. Their halos clattered behind them, fractured into shards that sizzled against the stone like hot metal quenched with water.

Then it began on me.

First, my hands unraveled, peeling back in long, wet ribbons, veins collapsing into ash. My arms thinned, bones showing through, then snapping into powder under the weight of the light.  I screamed but my voice dissolved before it reached my lips. My legs blurred, toes dripping away like wax from a burning candle. Each step left behind streaks of liquid light.

Still the corridor went on. No end, no mercy, only the slow surgical torture of being undone.

At last the light reached my face. I tried to hold my name on my tongue, to clutch at it, before it too melted away. My thoughts fractured, memories scattered like a moth to a flame. I tried to recall why I had been brought here. What sin could I have committed? Was I doubtful? Did I love too much? Not enough? What could have demanded such punishment?

I searched myself, clawing through memories like a drowning man at the surface. Had I disobeyed? Had I questioned too deeply? Doubted too openly? I remember lifting the prayers with trembling hands. Guiding mortals through their darkest hours. Shielding them with wings now torn from me. Was compassion my sin? Every moment of my life blurred together under the light. Every hymn sung, every vow kept. Yet none of it explained why I walked this corridor. The more I reached for answers, the more my memories crumbled and I feared I would never know.

That perhaps is the deepest cruelty: to be condemned without understanding why.

My halo, once a perfect ring of fire, now cracked apart above me. The shard spun like broken glass before sinking into my flesh, branding my head with wounds the light was eager to investigate.

The light pierced through my skull, not burning but erasing. Every line of touch, every line of memory, every trace of the one I had once been. My soul, once bright and vibrant, turned brittle and thin, until I felt it snapping apart like shattering glass. And when it was gone…I did not die, I did not move on.

I became something else. A shadow, a phantom. 

The pillars kept their rhythm, tall, white and endless. The corridor stretched on, not caring. I, what is left of me, flicker along the wall. A hollow silhouette phasing in and out of a jittery existence. A shadow among shadows. A stain of movement with no substance, condemned to walk forever between stone and shadow.

I no longer remember my name. I no longer remember why I had wings or what they had been for. I no longer seek salvation, I just seek an ending. All that remains, all that echoes are the endless shifting of shadow and the pull of the corridor that I keep moving.

Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 
line_separator2

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!

line_separator2

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