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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

That Other Thing
by Elaine Pascale

Each visit to the beautician found that there was less hair to manage. The baldness ran in her family.  That other thing did not.
During Dot’s salad days, her hair had been her crowning glory. Tied in a sable pony tail, it had swung mesmerizingly with each step she took. Unfettered, it had danced on the wind. It had laid on her shoulders as an onyx, hirsute cape, attracting suitors by its shiny exoticness.
Clumps had begun to be left behind in her brush after use. Her shower drain had swirled with clusters of the long, dark strands. She had looked at the wide parts and bare spots on her mother’s and aunts’ heads and cried, knowing what was in store for her.
“It’s not that bad,” Cindy said with each visit to the parlor. Cindy’s hair was naturally thick. Cindy often shot glances to the hairdressers beside her, cueing Dot in to the fact that her hair loss was indeed very, very bad. Dot knew the ladies laughed at her. Worse, they felt sorry for her when she had been the one to inspire so much envy for so many years.
The baldness ran in her family, but that other thing did not. What she called “that other thing” was the one night a month when hair was in abundance. Along with claws and teeth to match.
She kept a calendar to know which night it was safest to avoid people. But Cindy had been less than kind the past few visits. The last one, she had been down right cruel.
Dot prepared herself, knowing that she would soon be covered in long dark hair. It was no longer the inspiration of envy: it was the arousal of a primal fear. She made an appointment for the hairy night, showing up just before the moon rose.
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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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Tiffany Michelle Brown @TiffeBrown @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

New Arrangements
by Tiffany Michelle Brown

As was their new custom, Ronnie had beat Susan to bed. He lay atop their midnight blue comforter in pajama pants and a worn T-shirt, his eyes half-closed, his body cutting a fine impression into the mattress. Susan thought he looked peaceful.

She wasn’t sure she liked this new arrangement. Over the years, Ronnie had proven to be a night owl and Susan, an early evening bedbug. Her husband’s newfound stillness was unsettling; she was used to him puttering about well into the early hours of the morning. But, Susan reminded herself, people change. Circumstances change. She simply needed to get used to it.

And truly, it wasn’t all bad. Since she and Ronnie now had quality time together before bed, she’d taken to reading aloud from her favorite classic, Jane Eyre. Ronnie had yet to complain about the old-timey language, so Susan figured he was enjoying himself, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

Susan climbed into bed and rubbed lavender-scented lotion into her arms. She found the scent refreshing and calming, and it helped her get to sleep most nights.

Susan procured her worn copy of Jane Eyre from her bedside table and flipped open the brittle pages to where she’d left off the night before. She’d begun using the rose Ronnie bought her a week earlier as a bookmark, which Susan found incredibly romantic—despite the circumstances under which Ronnie had bought the flower.

It was meant to be an apology. It hadn’t worked.

But Susan didn’t want to think about that night. It seemed so very long ago. And reflecting on the past wouldn’t let her move into her new future. Their new future.

Susan’s voice, steady and warm, read the words of Charlotte Brontë as Ronnie lay beside her—not just dead to the world, but dead in all respects, as he had been for days now.

At the close of the chapter, Susan sighed happily, replaced the book, and turned out the light.

The weight of Ronnie’s body beside her was comforting, as it always had been, though the weight was cold and starting to smell a tad unpleasant. But, Susan thought, it could be worse. So much worse.

She was convinced somehow, as she drifted off to dream of their argument—the one that ended so badly and that she revisited in REM night after night—that this new life of theirs wasn’t so bad.

She’d get used to it. It would just take time.

Fiction © Copyright Tiffany Michelle Brown
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Snuff Film Relic
by Marge Simon

“Sweetie, I’ve been into film production since I was a boy,” he said. Julian was his name and I was crazy about him. I couldn’t believe such a man of his looks and caliber would ever speak to me, much less invite me into his spacious home. But here I was, sitting in his living room.
He lit my cigarette and kissed my fingers. While I was taking it all in, he placed a snifter of brandy in my hand, his silky baritone like a lullaby. He showed me his father’s Kodak. “This model was made in 1965. Just look at this my dear!” Unrolling some film, he held it up to the light so I could see how each frame had clearly captured a part of the action. Then he loaded the projector and started it.
By that time, I was getting a weird buzz from the brandy. I say “weird” because I was feeling very odd. It was like everything was slowing down. When I looked at the filmstrip, it seemed a great distance away. And I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
A lovely woman was sitting in the same chair as mine in the film. Julian held her in his arms. He began kissing her from her breasts down to her toes. A close-up of her eyelids fluttering. A line of drool escaped her lips. In the next set of frames, he was stabbing her with a screwdriver. He’d even added sound somehow — McCartney’s “Let It Be” full volume in the background.
Then he started in on me with a warm embrace, his lips on mine, sweet as that tainted brandy. Oh, yes, I was very much there, eyes wide open, unable to move, watching him remove the used film. He reloaded the Kodak, mounted it on a tripod, and aimed that old lens straight at me.
Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Marge Simon:

 

Satan’s Sweethearts
by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

Satan’s Sweethearts – a collection of poems by Marge Simon and Mary Turzillo featuring the most monstrous, evil women throughout history!

Available on Amazon!

 

 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Mandy DeGeit @mandydegeit @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Ritual

by Mandy DeGeit

She pants heavily behind the mask of bone. Sweat drips from her chin, the droplets disappearing into the murky water beneath her.
The sharp bedrock of the stream cuts into her knees, but she doesn’t feel the pain, nor does she notice the blood mingling with the running water. This only makes her stronger.
The setting sun in the distance, bids farewell to light’s end, bringing with it darkness and the creatures that live within it.
The monsters that come from the depths of shadows are close, so close she can smell the rot. Their putridity is strong, but not unwelcome. The stifling sweetness burns deep into her nostrils. .
She stands slowly, as the creatures from the darkness mingle around her, gathering, worshiping, and waiting for the next command.
As she basks in the residual light, water droplets glistening on her skin, she is once again powerful. Her army of minions congregates behind, snarling, snapping, and breathing as one.
As she takes a step towards the lights of the village, her power, and hatred, grows.
She smiles in the moonlight, her toothy grin reflecting pure evil.
She is woman, and she is witch.
Never again will they break her down.
Fiction © Copyright Mandy DeGeit
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Works by Mandy DeGeit can be found listed in her bibliography!
More from Mandy DeGeit!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Tawny Kipphorn @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Remnants
by Tawny Kipphorn

Razor sharp steel pressing against flesh
Eyes once so bright, now black as coal
The cold blooded’s bask in the memory of their crimes.
Faces seared into gray matter
The echoes of their screams from within these walls
The final luxury before their execution.
Every last strand has fallen upon this floor
And with the erosion of time
So has fallen every tear for every drop of blood.
Though the inhabitants have long expired
And the very foundation continues to decay
This place remains very much alive.
For every life that has entered here
Another one has ended here
And sometimes.. you can still hear their cries.
Fiction © Copyright Tawny Kipphorn
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Tawny Kipphorn:

A Shadow of Autumn

Fall—a season as beautiful as it is foreboding. A Shadow of Autumn takes you back to childhood nostalgia while peeling away the mask to reveal things that haunt your worst nightmares. Within these pages, you’ll find the usual denizens of the holiday—demons, witches, ghosts, and bloodsuckers—along with strange and unknown creatures lurking everywhere from innocuous cornfields and pumpkin patches to basement hatches and high school dances. These fourteen tales of fall magic and Halloween horrors will keep you looking over your shoulder long after the last light of October has waned. Don’t say we didn’t warn you…

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!

Petal, Page, Piel
by Sonora Taylor

Petal, page, piel. Petal, page, piel. Hanna sang the words to herself as she glued the pages of her book together. This book would be her finest yet, one filled with her fondest memories of Seth.

Petal, page piel. Petal, page, piel. A vase of wilted roses sat near her materials. Each flower was a gift from Seth, each page a transcript of the loving words he’d said to her. A book of love notes that would hold his words forever, even though he stopped saying them to her long ago.

Hanna sighed a little as she capped her pen, then turned the page. The book crackled like creaking bones beneath skin. Hanna remembered how books of old were made from skin, both animal and human.

Skin. Such a blunt word, one that pierced the tongue like a shard. Hanna much preferred the Spanish word, piel. It sounded like peel. To peel away skin sounded so much nicer than to skin someone to the bone. She loved the way Seth’s skin had looked between her fingertips. She loved it now as she caressed the pages of his skin inside her book, sheets she’d filled with all his lovely words.

Hanna placed a rose from Seth between the crease and shut the book to flatten it. Seth’s gifts, words, and body would be forever hers. Petal, page, piel. Petal, page, piel.

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 Asena Lourenco @ElaLourenco @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Spheres of Vision
by Asena Lourenco

Slithering silver skeleton claws
Waiting for one to fall into his jaws
Watching closely, even with no vision
Empty sockets, begins our mission
Bodies upon bodies lay dead on the ground
As with two dark holes they are found
On their face, there is nothing remaining
Apart from the nose and mouth it’s proudly displaying
The Spheres of Vision, or the mirrors of light
Have now vanished, into the dead of night.
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 11 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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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author H.E.Roulo @hroulo @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Devouring Circles
by H.E.Roulo

Spotlights from helicopters danced across the blue Caribbean ocean, and crews on other ships shouted at each other. Ignoring the panic around her, Vera sat on the side of her boat and double-checked her scuba gear. The last few sunset cruises were loading up and hightailing it to shore, leaving her boat gently bobbing beside Ned’s. A helicopter circled. Its spotlights searched across Ned’s empty boat. They couldn’t know he’d gone below more than an hour ago. It might be a relief to find him in distress, just to save his pride.
 Loudspeakers demanded all ships return to shore for their own safety. Ha! Vera finished shoving her hair under her wetsuit and flipped them the finger. She’d always hated to be told what to do. She slapped the tattoo on her forearm, hidden beneath the black wetsuit, and toppled overboard. Her inked anchor had brought her luck when she was working the oil fields. That had been a dog-eat-dog world, and she’d held her own. Same thing when she’d gotten back and started salvaging wrecks. You couldn’t much argue underwater while wearing gear, but you had to demand respect. She’d never backed down. Ned got that. He said the anchor wasn’t about water, it was about being her being so immovable. That was enough to win her over. Sometimes they’d even gone out diving together, but he’d been alone today.
The water was definitely turning darker. The radio called it an oil leak, except this wasn’t the kind of response an oil leak got. She had a hunch it all went back to the carving they’d found last night. Ned had invited only her and a couple veteran divers to see it. When they returned, they went straight to McGinty’s Bar. She’d tried to describe its nauseating yet appealing power. Ned had taken pictures, but on paper it wasn’t even much to look at, just a circle within circle, carved into rock. He’d claimed it sealed the underworld.
The only underworld she believed in was the bottom of the ocean.
Looking back at Ned’s determination, she should have taken the old cuss more seriously when he said, “That carving makes me shivery. Think I’ll break it loose and hang it on my wall.”
Fortunately, when the call came to evacuate this stretch of ocean, she’d already been on her boat with her tanks and wet suit. Finding his boat bobbing right there, she knew he’d gone after the carving. Even if Ned was an idiot who dove alone, she wasn’t going to leave him down there.
She descended, sinking from the strobe of spotlight, swallowed by darker waters.
Her dive light returned color to the seafloor. The oozing seal lay just ahead. Was it connected to the underworld, like Ned said? Vera wanted to scoff, but her scuba mask muffled it into a burp of bubbles. She swam closer, drawn by the pool of blackness barely visible in her light. Here, tendrils like wisps of a dust devil avoided her light. She spotted Ned’s figure and swam closer. Strange that he didn’t respond to her light. Was it just a rock outcropping? She touched his shoulder, and it crumbled beneath her glove. She flinched. His brittle husk spun slowly. His hood fell back from a blackened skull. Behind his body, her light touched the carving.
The stone glinted, circles within circles. Life. Power. Midnight-black tendrils seeped into the water, flirting around her light, like the lattice of a Faberge egg, surrounded her. She spun in a slow circle, heart pounding. Tentacles of sinewy corruption darkened the world to a chamber, a bubble, bordered only by the blackness. Power sizzled, somehow tickling her skin through the thick barrier of her suit. A tendril slithered close. She flinched, but the cage was collapsing. She flashed her light across it, the last gaps closing before she could snake through. Animal panic sent her pulse racing and she released the flashlight to scrabble against the thing that surrounded her. It made contact, wrapped her, crushed her, and held her suspended in a husk of blackness apart from the world. She sensed its foreign nature, the evil inherent in its otherness. It could not survive in this world, not as it was, so it consumed and corrupted all it touched.
A feather-touch of pain sizzled along her cheek. Tears collected inside her mask and she contorted, fighting the power that held her. She opened her mouth to scream and the darkness washed across her, corrupting and transforming her.
She snarled, recognizing that it changed her into something like itself, full of power and rage. Somehow, that was better. She’d always hated to be helpless. She opened her mouth and sucked in more. The buzz traveled down her throat and nestle in her chest. She stopped struggling and swept her arms out to gather more, to invite it in, to take and chew and swallow. She consumed, drawing it in with an embrace of delight that only grew stronger. Too late, it realized that she wasn’t the one consumed; she used her strength to consume it.
She twisted, drawing the swirling darkness into a whirlpool around her, like cotton candy on a stick. Yes, there it was. Its power surged inside her. She snapped at a tendril. Let her be a monster, then!
Her teeth sank into the tentacles, tough as octopus. They were the same flesh, and what had been flimsy was easy to grab and shove. Black blood spurted into her mouth, filling her with power.
She grabbed another.
It had tried to gain power over her, but two could play that game.
She filled her mouth. Flesh tore. Who had more power now?
It consumed worlds, but she consumed it.
Fiction © Copyright H.E.Roulo
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from H.E.Roulo:

Plague Master: Sanctuary Dome

When Samantha’s brother goes missing, the trail leads to Julius Cerberon, the rich philanthropist who built a dome for the sufferers of mankind’s newest disease. Can she really accuse the universe’s greatest humanitarian of murder? Meanwhile, on a downtrodden planet, Trevor has the unenviable job of zombie bait. He saves his dream girl, but she is infected. He escapes to the domed utopia where the infected are quarantined until they change. Then the dome breaks and a planet’s worth of zombies invade. And his girl could change any minute now.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Door
by Lisa Lane

It calls to her,
the threshold waiting.
She resists its selfish pull,
sensing the event horizon,
the point of no return.
She’d crossed a door
much like this one before.
When she woke in a hospital room,
and she thought she’d survived.
It took her some time to understand.
All was not the same.
She’d fallen, like Lucifer to Hell,
slipped into a darker place
of her own design.
She knows it had to be.
That when she woke,
it was on the other side.
She’d made her choice
with the slice of a razor blade.
Lengthwise, to the morgue.
But life continues on,
even if somewhere else
she lay six feet in the ground.
The illusion remains.
Yes, she knows where she has gone.
This place looks just like the last.
It continues right where she left off,
just a little worse than before.
And as much as she wants to end it again,
she knows there are deeper doors than this one.
Fiction © Copyright Lisa Lane
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Lisa Lane:

lisalane_janethehippievampireJane the Hippie Vampire, Volume 1: Revival

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

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

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

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

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

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

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Escape
by Sheri White

Anna ran through the woods, dead leaves crunching under her bare feet. She turned to see if it was still following her, but caught her foot on a tree root. She fell hard, feeling her ankle twist beneath her.
Tired and out of breath, Anna considered just giving up. What’s the point, she thought. The guttural cries in the distance, however, changed her mind and she got back up on her feet.
I have to get away. I will be free if I can get through these woods.
Anna could only limp quickly now. Tears of pain filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks, blurring her vision.
“AH AH AH!”
Oh, god. Anna tried to limp faster, but her twisted ankle only slowed her down. She had to stop, just for a few seconds to catch her breath. She leaned against a tree and closed her eyes. Before she could take one deep breath, though, she heard snorts and gibberish. It was getting closer. Crackling leaves and snapping twigs told her she was almost out of time.
Anna looked around, unsure of which direction the sounds were coming from. Then she saw a brightness just a little ways away, making her heart leap.
“I can make it,” she whispered to herself. Determined to get away, to finally be free, she ran towards the clearing. The pain as she ran was like knives stabbing her relentlessly, but she ignored it.
“AH AH AHHHHHHH!”
No! Please, no!
Could she really feel fetid hot breath on her neck, or was she imagining it? She willed herself not to look back.
But she couldn’t help it.
She saw its face, saw its arm reaching out for her.
“No! Leave me alone!”
She turned back towards the clearing, so close, almost there, but didn’t see the rock jutting up from the ground in front of her.
She screamed as she fell, from pain, but mostly because she knew she would never have another chance at freedom.
She lay there on her back, breathing hard with her eyes closed. Finally she opened them, and looked up at the creature standing over her.
Its lips formed a rictus of a smile. It knelt down beside Anna, and stroked her cheek with clammy cold fingers. Then it spoke its first word.
Mama.
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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