Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lisa Harris @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Hungry Cat
by Lisa Harris

Weddlesdy

Smile Lady brought numnums again. Just for me!!! Didn’t even have to share with Half Ear or Piss Off. They were hunting the other alley nests for big nummies. But numnums just for me is better than aaall the big nummies in the Orb.

Tursdy

Smile Lady gave me rubbies while I ate more numnums. Don’t normally like fingies giving rubbies, but Smile Lady wasn’t slappy, just rubby behind my ears. She even made care to avoid my whiskers. I am Smile Cat.

Freedy

More numnums, more rubbies! Smile Lady made the chatty chats today. It was nice. Not at all like when Growl Man howls at me, chases me from his bread nest. Some of the Peeple lapping the brown drink inside howl back at Growl Man for scaring me, say I just want numnums and they’ll stop coming to his bread nest if he keeps being mean to me. 

Satty 

No Smile Lady today. Had to fight for Piss Off’s rat scraps.

Sundy

Smile Lady must be gone like ma. No rat scraps today. Just face scratch from Half Ear. I am Growl Cat today.

Mundy

Smile Lady back. Wanted to be Hiss Cat and make face scratch but she had extra nummies and made sorry chats. Said she only walks my way when she has to roam to the concrete box with windows so she can afford my numnums!

Toosdy

Numnums. Rubrubs. Good good good! Always wonder why Smile Lady’s Man Shadow never joins in. Maybe he doesn’t want to lose his game of hidey go peep?

Weddlesdy

Numnums and rubrubs but Smile Lady was a Frown Lady today. Her face had two black lines of peepers rain rolling down her face. She chat-chattied like before but I could tell she was very Frowny. Off-putting to my meal.

Tursdy

Man Shadow much closer today. Smile Lady was a Shaky Lady. Spilled my numnums on the soppy cobbles. Her chatties was shaky too. I can’t speak Peeple but it seems a Scary Peeple is snaky snaking inside her nest when Smile Lady is doing roams at her concrete box. Shaky Lady is scared of Scary Peeple. I meowed that she should be careful! A snaky snake in the nest is how Half Ear became Half Ear and maybe Man Shadow can help her with the Scary Peeple?

Freedy

Lots lots lots of peepers rain from Smile Lady. She can’t give numnums anymore. Scary Peeple is spying on her very muchly and she has to trick him so he won’t track her anymore. She must leave her nest and find a new one. I’d let her stay in my nest but Piss Off would make face scratch on her and she has no claws to scratch him back, so it wouldn’t be fair. Man Shadow has a big shiny slicer with him all the time so maybe she could borrow that to scratch back?

Satty

No Lady – Smiley or Frowny. So no rubbies or nummies. But Half Ear got lots of the flaky tasty bread from Growl Man’s bread nest and we nommed all night. 

Sundy

I will now call Smile Lady “Surprise Lady.” I’d just come back to the soppy alley nest from my roams with Piss Off, and… Surprise! Smile Lady was there leaking face rain and cuddling behind our bins. But it’s Sundy! I jumped on her lap and gave snuggies, but she had no numnums and was too shaky for rubrubs. I jumped off and went roaming with Half Ear instead. Passed Man Shadow and his Shiny Slicer on the way out. He was no good for numnums or rubbies either. Mrwah! Peeple!

Mundy

Smile Lady still in my alley having big nappies! Smile Lady should be “Lazy Lady.” But she laid out some looovely nummies for us though. Everyone was nibbling and pecking and buzz buzz buzzing at the numnums peeping out from her tumtums! And all this lovely red drink to laplap! A feast from heaven. Her hands were too sticks and freezy for rubbies which made me Frowny Cat. 

Toosdy

Blue Peeple chased us away to snaky snake our nest for themselves and decorated it with yellow ribbons and more Blue Peeple in white masks and slippers carried Smile Lady away on a lazy throne. Never knew she was a queen! Nest is gone but saw Man Shadow downtown, he was playing hidey go peep now with a Pretty Lady. Maybe Pretty Lady will have lovely red numnums for me too?

 
Fiction © Copyright Lisa Harris
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Christina Sng @ChristinaSng @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Change 
by Christina Sng 

I took her hand and held it through the iron bars separating us. Her face was shrouded in darkness but I heard her breathing. Faint, but still breath. Not the rasp when we eventually turned.

We were too tired to talk. The chase took away the last of our reserves. Now we just waited for the change. How would it feel? Would it hurt? Or would it be like death, an eternal sleep we had no awareness of?

I thought of my life before all this. I thought of everyone I had ever loved and who loved me back. People who came into my life and touched it. Brief, exuberant moments of unbridled joy and elation. Too many to remember as they began flooding my mind.

I tried to stay with each one for as long as I could, but like a moving picture book, the pages kept flipping faster and faster until the story was over. They dissipated like exhausted clouds in the aftermath of rain.

The darkness pulled me. This crushing exhaustion shutting down every part of my body. I became light as the wind, soaring away to another universe. Still, I felt her hand clasp mine. I called her name but no sound emerged. Then, she loosened her grip on my hand. With all my strength, I clung on.

An all-too familiar rasp broke the silence. She clutched my hand even tighter, holding onto me. Now it was my turn. I let go of the world as I faded into the darkness.

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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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lee Mitchell @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

My Piece of the Stars 
by Lee Mitchell  

.

“It really is an ugly, old thing,” said the young woman holding the estate sale. “Mom always had an eye for useless antiques.”

I had to agree that the kettle was a bit unsightly, but there was also a kind of rustic charm to it. The weathered metal surface was patinaed with age, making it stand out among the other random items laid out across the table. Something about the piece spoke to me. I had no idea where I would display it—my place was cluttered enough as it was—but the longer I stood there contemplating, the more I had to have it.

I leaned in for a closer look. “Do you know anything about its history? Where it came from?”

“No idea,” said the woman. “My mom would’ve known.”

Drawing upon assumptions, I felt the need to reply, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The woman sighed. “My mom is still alive, though I use the word loosely. She fell victim to dementia earlier this year. Came on suddenly, left her unable to do much other than stare out into space. I had no choice but to move her to a care facility.”

“I’m… so sorry.”

“Me too.” Another deep sigh.

We stood in awkward silence for a moment. Finally, I summoned the courage to ask, “How much?”

The woman shrugged. “Five bucks?”

“Sold.” I pulled a five-dollar bill from my wallet and handed it over.

The kettle was heavier than I imagined it would be, leading me to dig into some armchair research over its composition, which turned out to be primarily iron and nickel. I hadn’t expected to find much and was surprised to come across its likeness in a museum archive. The antique had been last spotted on display in Japan, but it had dropped off the radar a few decades ago after falling victim to a major heist.

I learned that the piece had been forged out of metal that had come from a meteor—and the piece itself was priceless. Its discovery dated back to the 17th century, where it changed numerous hands before finding itself in the museum. Legend had it that whoever drank tea from the kettle would gain understanding of the universe’s deepest secrets.

Never one to buy in to folklore or superstition, I dismissed the old tale. I had bought the thing for its quaint aesthetic value, without any thought to its possible utility, anyway. I had no desire to use it. But my priority shifted to finding a way to get it back to its rightful place in Japan. Now that I knew that it was a valuable relic, I had no right to keep it.

I thought to do some digging online to determine who would be the best people to contact, but instead I found myself preoccupied with a sudden nagging question: Was something so old still capable of boiling water?

I knew it was silly, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to know. As though on autopilot, I filled the kettle. The water held. Instead of emptying it, I moved the antique to my stove and ignited the gas burner. Then: I wonder if the dense metal will heat the water slower or quicker than a conventional kettle?

Slower. It heated slower.

I waited for the water to boil. It took roughly fifteen minutes. As if dumping the contents wasn’t an option, I prepared a teacup and poured in the steaming water. It came out clear, further justifying my incomprehensible need to let the tea steep.

I tried a sip, noting the slight metal tone, and set down the cup. Well, that was silly….

An abrupt dizzy spell sent me rushing to the nearest chair. I seated myself just as my consciousness split, sending one half of me watching over my body as if viewing a movie, while the other half stretched across the cosmos and communed with the stars. I watched galaxies form and dissolve, stars amass and explode, and the very fabric of reality patch itself into being following the Big Bang. I saw the entire evolution of the earth, civilizations rise and fall, life begin and end.

I saw myself, this tiny speck trapped on this miniscule piece of time and space, but my body now seemed so impossibly far away. It was not me anymore, but instead just some person—some tiny person—frozen in a confused gaze.

All the thing could do was stare.

Fiction © Copyright Lee Mitchell.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More from Author Lee Mitchell:

Alisha Brown led a mundane life until the day monsters started trying to kill her and random strangers began to shy away from her in awe.

All hell broke loose, quite literally, after Randy Thomas turned right on Main for Honey’s instead of making a left for home and then murdered his beloved wife in an unusually gruesome way. Escaping police and stopping traffic in New York City with a gas-spewing tentacle erupting from his mouth, his fears are confirmed: That one small backslide would serve as the final tipping point for all mankind, inviting in a timeless destructive force that would lead him to the frontlines of the war to end all wars.

A growing population has succumbed to their worst fears, some transforming into dreaded fictional monsters—leaving the streets flooded with vampires, werewolves, spontaneously combusting humans, and other horrors—while others have become angels and demons determined to fight in the holy war they believe is upon them.

Questions soon arise as Randy’s and Alisha’s roles in this bizarre apocalypse become uncertain. One is a professed sinner, the other an asexual virgin. Each has been touched by the hand of fate, and each believes they are humanity’s last hope. But belief can be a funny thing…

The Divine Darkness is the first installment of The Divine Darkness apocalyptic horror trilogy.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


No Ripples for the Faithless
by Kathleen McCluskey

The dock had no business still standing. Its boards were warped into crooked ribs, nails soft with rust, planks missing entirely so the water showed through like black glass. It leaned away from shore as if ashamed of what it had seen. Its spine was broken in three places, yet it still endured. The lake around it lay unnaturally smooth, a pale skin stretched tight over something silent and patient. Even on windy nights, even when rain needled the surface elsewhere, the water around the dock never rippled.

   The men came.

   Her husband had brought her here once, years ago, before the lake knew her name. He laughed as he kissed her neck, his breath thick with gin and promises. The dock had been sound then, solid enough to trust and the water had answered the moon’s tides like an obedient lover. He told her that this place was theirs, where no one watched and nothing mattered. When  she told him she was pregnant, his smile tightened like a knot.

   They say she slipped. They said the boards were slick with algae and rot. They said no one heard her scream because the fog rolled in thick and sudden, swallowing all sound. What they did not say was that his hands were on her shoulders pushing her forward. What they do not say is how long he stood there afterward, watching the lake close over her head, the surface smoothing itself as if she had never existed at all.

   The water kept her.

   It took the air from her lungs and replaced it with cold. It combed her hair with weeds and threaded her fingers with silt. When she stopped fighting, when her heart realized no one was coming, the lake gave her something back. It gave her silence so deep that it sang. 

   She rose at night.

   Not climbing. Not swimming, simply rising. She glided over the surface without breaking it. Where her feet should have disturbed the water, there was nothing. No wake. Moonlight clung to her skin, turning it pale and luminous, her hair streaming behind her like ink turned milk.

   She learned the sounds men made when they thought they were alone. The careless humming, the slurred endearments spoken into phones far enough away that the wives wouldn’t hear. She learned the weight of desire and guilt balanced together, how easily they tipped. When she sang, it was not loud. It did not need to be. Her song slipped into the soft areas behind the eyes, into memories of first kisses and locked doors. Into the ache of wanting to be forgiven without even asking.

   They followed her song onto the dock.

   The boards groaned under their weight, splintering a little more each time but the men did not notice. Their eyes stayed on her shape ahead of them in the fog, a promise of skin and secrecy. When they reached for her, their fingers only touched cold air. She stepped backward, always backward until the dock ended and the lake waited.

   She did not push them. She simply showed them the truth.

   The moment stretched, heavy and terrible, as their understanding bloomed. Then the men lunged too far or the boards gave way and the water opened its mouth. It dragged them down without a splash, without a cry. Beneath the surface, hands reached up to claim them. Bloated, pale hands, wedding bands still clinging to softened fingers. Bodies gathered there, a garden of the faithless, anchored by shame and silence.

   Sometimes, when the fog is thick, people swear they see a woman standing at the end of the dock, waiting. The lake lies smooth as glass, revealing nothing. No ripples. No wind.

   Only a song drifting on the mist, calling you to come a little closer.

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
 

A Kitten’s Tale
by Marge Simon 

When I was new

I was one of a litter

under a trailer.

It was dark and cozy there,

mother’s tits full to drink from,

her tongue to keep us clean

and the heat of summer sun

was not a thing to worry us.

But come the renters,

a young man and woman

and a small one, the kind

that we fear most,

being very young,

and full of screams

to get his needs.

I was chosen for his pet,

while my siblings

were sent elsewhere,

perhaps to die.

I would rather have joined them,

for he carries me around

by my neck and sometimes

swings me by my tail,

puts toothpaste in my hair,

and squeezes me so hard.

It won’t be long

before I go,

but oh, I wish

I could be new, again.

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

 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Melissa R. Mendelson @fallenhazel @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

By Their Design
by Melissa R. Mendelson

 The falling was the worst part. I hated the falling. Why couldn’t the dream be peaceful, but who said that I was asleep? I was in-between, slipping between what was and will be, and there comes the sickly web wrapping around me, slime over every inch of me. I don’t like that, but at least, I was done falling.

I sat up in the large, metallic tub and pulled the white film off of me. I used up all my credit for this, but my last body was failing me. Too many defects, errors in the genetic code, and I did not want to wind up on an elderly ward when I wasn’t even elderly. Still, I wondered what they gave me, and the skin looked clean under the white slime.

I decided to stay in the tub and pulled off the white, sickly substance from my neck down to my belly. Then, I stood up and worked my way down from the hips to the legs. I knew the floor would be ice cold, and it certainly was as my feet splashed down onto the white tiles. I picked the rest of the crap off my new skin. Everything looked clean. It looked like I was just born, and again, I had enough credit to guarantee that this body would not fail me. But if it does, there would be no return for me, and the elderly ward would be the least of my problems.

I forgot what it was like to move, to swing your arms around and spin like you were a child. No creaks, cracks, whines or groans. How I would love to be a child again, but the body had to fit the age, errors removed, no mother nature to sneak up on you. We defeated her.

A laugh surprised me. It was from me, a beautiful sound that rang in my ears. I laughed again as I spotted the familiar white gown, which for whatever reason reminded me of those old plastic bags, but the doctors had to examine me. They were really admiring their work, and even with my selections, I was prisoner to their design. Still, job well done.

I slipped on the gown, grimacing at the sounds that it made like I was an item ready for shipment, but I rather the sounds come from that than from me. I danced toward the mirror with my bare feet slapping the tiles with every single step. It was so good to be light on my feet again, and my body was ready, ready to launch out of this facility and back into the world. I was brand new, and I was not going to waste another moment of it.

My hand kissed the mirror and pushed the fog away. My heart dropped a moment later. Yes, my skin was clean, brand new, my eyes a beautiful brown. My lips perfect and pink, but then I turned my head to the side. And there it was. A jagged, thin line from the corner of my left eye down to my ear.

“Damn it,” I cursed. “If only I had enough credit,” but this was their design. And there was no return.

.

Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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About Author Melissa R. Mendelson:

Melissa R. Mendelson is a horror, science-fiction and dystopian author and poet.  She has two publications with Wild Ink Publishing.  One is a prose poetry collection, This Will Remain With Us, and the other is a short story collection, Stories Written On Covid Walls.  She also self-published a sci-fi novella, Waken and a small short story collection, Name’s Keeper.

If you’d like to learn more about Melissa, you can visit her accounts here: www.MelissaMendelson.com

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Nonna 
by Elaine Pascale

They were packing Nonna’s things.

They were selecting the items they wanted, boxing the rest for the Salvation Army. The cousins made decisions quickly and companionably which was unusual for them.

Ginny wanted the old rocking chair that had soothed each of them through various bouts of colic and colds. John wanted the marble rolling pin and cutting board that had been the instruments behind calzones, cannolis, and cuccidati. Sue wanted the sewing kit that had made emergency repairs on stuffed animals and Carol wanted the dolls that most of the cousins found creepy.

“I don’t remember this,” Margot said, pulling an old tea kettle from behind a pile of dishes that had been stacked in the corner of the room. “God, it’s hot.” She waved her hand manically, trying to cool it after she touched the side of the kettle.

“That’s your imagination,” John said, reaching for the kettle. He tentatively touched a finger to its side. “Ouch. It is hot.”

“That’s what I said.”

Sue took a turn, placing the tea pot on the floor in front of her and gently lifting the lid. “It’s steaming. As if someone just had it on the stove.”

“Does anyone else remember it?” Margot asked. “Does anyone remember Nonna having this kettle? She had that pink rose one she used all the time…this one is…dingy and weird. What are all these engravings?” No one answered her which was usual for this group. Despite being connected by blood, they didn’t really care for each other nor did they ever cooperate well.

“Maybe we rinse it out with cold water?” Ginny suggested.

“No, we pour whatever is in there out into little cups and do a psychic reading,” Sue insisted, even though she had no inclination toward divination.

John was looking at his watch in a way that foretold his ditching his cousins for a better opportunity. He was not alone in wanting to be away from present company. With their grandmother gone, they no longer had anyone to force them together.

Margot pulled the teapot closer. “I’m the one that found it. I’ll figure out what to do with it.”

You can’t figure out how to order French fries from the drive-thru,” Sue sneered. She then became serious. “You think it’s worth something. You want it because you think it’s worth money.”

“What’s worth money?” John stopped looking at his cell phone long enough to ask.

“Not you,” Carol answered. “You’re only sniffing around Nonna’s things in the hopes of finding something to pawn.”

“That’s not true! I loved Nonna! I spent more time with her than you four combined.”

“Whatever,” Margot interjected. “I found it and I’m keeping it. You each picked out your item; this is mine.”

“Maybe I might change my mind,” Carol said, trying to pry the teapot from Margot so she could inspect it.

“I should get it, I’m the oldest,” Ginny insisted, taking the loose spindle from the back of her rocking chair and using it to separate Carol and Margot.

John was holding his rolling pin defensively and Sue had placed sewing pins between her fingers in case any of her cousins got close enough to jab. It felt like old times.

“Stop,” Margot growled, twisting away from her cousins and spinning the kettle wildly in her struggle.

A voice came from the kettle. “It was hard for me to leave you, my little tesori.”

“Nonna?”

“Yes, it’s me. I knew you would come to divvy up my things. And I knew you would fight, as always. But, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that one of you will follow me soon.”

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked, trying to hide the chair spindle behind her back, as if that would conceal it from her ghostly grandmother.

A small chuckle came from the kettle. “It means, I won’t be alone in death much longer. One of you will come to be with me. One of my little angels.”

“Real funny, Nonna,” John grumbled.

“Since when do I joke or lie?” the kettle asked and this was true. Unlike her grandchildren, Nonna was honest and trustworthy. She spent much of her life trying to get them to see the errors in their ways.

Carol gulped. “Which one, Nonna? Which one of us dies next?”

The kettle gave a strange laugh, one that sounded nothing like their grandmother. “It seems you have weapons at your disposal. I’m going to let you decide.”

.

Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pixaby.com
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More from Elaine Pascale:

TheKitchenWitches_ElainePascale

The Kitchen Witches

The women of Cape Cod have a story that is dying to be told. If only they could live long enough to tell it.

When Fiona Walker is contracted to write about a party attended by her social circle, her friends begin dying. She captures the competition and misery of the women around her through three different stories.

In Wishes, Melanie Voss discovers a Time Between Time where nothing that happens counts. Initially, Time Between Time is a welcome escape from a life spent watching the clock while doing chores for her family. But something sinister is in the Time Between Time and it is headed straight for Melanie.

Death and Taxes tells the story of Nashville DeCota, the Cape Capo. Nash swears that she is not the Island Impaler, nor the Tooth Snatcher, but she has just as many skeletons in her closet. When her husband, Derrick, is kidnapped, she has to come clean about her crimes if she ever wants to see him again.

Fiona tells her own story in Hazing, where she finds that the real source of evil behind the deaths of her friends is worse than she could have ever imagined.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Amanda Worthington @AmandaW58679588 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Broken Tracks
by Amanda Worthington

Broken tracks extending into the loathsome gray

Of the sea that time forgot

The train of humanity lies buried beneath

The rails and algae and rot

Did you think this could end any other way

Than in our untimely demise?

Relic decaying quietly

Under the poison skies?

There is no travel to some other world

When the one we’ve known is dead

There is only the slow agony

Of bleeding into the enemies who’ve already bled

What’s said has been said

What’s done has been done

Now those who linger just await the descent

Of the already-deceased sun

Eight and a half minutes of dread fill this place

And anyone left alive laments their breath

This forgotten realm grows cold

And then the last dry rattle signals our death

.

.

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Shadow Love  
by Alex Grehy

“See, it’s nothing” Daddy shook the coats


“See, it’s nothing” Daddy shook the coats

in the closet, the shadows dispersed, he 

laughed and ruffled my hair, “Ok, princess?” 

No daddy, it’s not ok, you destroyed

my friends, the light at the edges

gave them shape and beauty, and

you just laughed and sent them away.

“Girls don’t play in the dark” Mommy tugged

open the curtains, destroying the shade, “You need 

to get out, be less weird, make some friends”.

No Mummy, I don’t need to go out, my

friends are right here, well, they were

until you chased them away with

the horrible light.

“Loosen up!” my lover said, lighting the candle

I’d blown out a moment before, “I’m here, remember? 

Stop staring at nothing.”

No, lover, it’s not nothing, that candlelight is perfect,

can’t you see him, my demon, inviting me to dance

in the flickering flame, waiting to celebrate, to feast, 

yet again.

.

Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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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!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Nadia Corin @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Everlasting
by Nadia Corin

No one expected how the alien invasion happened. It wasn’t ships descending from the sky and armies of green men with ray guns. It was something much more subtle. It began quietly, unseen, and undiscovered until it was too late…too late for us all.

Life can evolve in strange ways, even here on Earth. So why not stranger in the infinite universe? This invader, our conqueror, was nothing more than ice. It even allowed scientists to test it. No DNA, no organic matter of any kind. It was just frozen water, pure H2O, but always in solid form. It didn’t melt with heat, unless it chose to. That was how it expanded, grew, and took our world from us without us even noticing.

It never revealed when it first came. Only that it had spread across every inch of the globe. It could have come down as rain and waited until winter to reveal itself. Or it could have come down in winter and spread slowly across the land. Either way, it was in every square inch of land and water; even the oceans had been fully claimed by it.

The winter it first spoke to us, the world was in a panic. A frost covered the entire world, it even snowed in tropical zones across the equator where it never had before. Its intentions were made clear. We could co-exist with this newfound global organism, or it could remove us from its chosen home. We were like insects it didn’t want to bother exterminating unless they caused a problem. Those who wouldn’t submit were killed with haste. For some, their blood froze within seconds, others were impaled by icicles that formed instantly. It killed in a multitude of ways, all horrible and equally terrifying to witness.

Those of us that were allowed to stay now serve its will. It likes to be worshiped—it thrives on its own ego. So now it is our Lord, our Savior, and our everlasting God.

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