Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Linda Lee Rice @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_FEB_LOHMardi Gras
by Linda Lee Rice

The streets are quiet this year during the pandemic. Mardi Gras is a shadow of what I can remember in my many seasons. Stores are shuttered, crowds are light, if any, my favorite shop closed with the decorative costumes just out of reach. But I have my costume on; only the mask is lacking to be complete.
Ah, the Mardi Gras memories! People were laughing, singing, drunken, and boisterous…and screaming. I always loved the screaming the best. Unaware of being prey while I’m the predator, just another beautiful woman that blends in the crowd, but different.
Red has always been my favorite color. The darker, the better. Shiny red, the way it glistened under the gaslights and now the streetlights. The crimson now looking black in the darkness with the lovely metallic taste warming my blood.
But, alas, this year is so different, and my needs are accelerated. Even though the Mardi Gras is canceled, my body isn’t aware and craves that which it can’t access.
But wait! What’s that sound? Laughter, muttering, drunken weaving steps? From the corner of the building, a lone figure steps down into the pavement. Looking up, he sees me and waves forlornly as he steps forward.
As I greet him, smiling wildly, he finally sees the insanity and hunger in my eyes. Lurching backward, he makes for escape, but I’m too quick and hungry. As he lies there gasping his last breath, I ask him if he likes my mask, now dripping in the light. My costume is complete.
Fiction © Copyright Linda Lee Rice.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More about Linda Lee Rice:

me in burgandy hat2

Linda Lee Rice aka Ruzicka has poetry published in Twilight Times, Dark Krypt, Fables, Descending Darkness, Writing Village, Spine, and Page, Muses Gallery, Bloodbond, Lycan Valley Press Publishers, Alban Lake, Highland Park Poetry, Rosette Maleficarum, The Siren’s Call, Edify Fiction and the June Cotner anthology, “House Blessings” and “Garden Blessings

She has short stories published in The Grit, and Reminisce, Haunted Encounters: Friends and Family, FrostFire Worlds. Plus, a personal essay at Mamalode. She also has various articles and blogs published online as a freelance writer.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Mary Ann Peden-Coviello @MAPedenCoviello @darc_nina #LoH

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_FEB_LOH

Judas Goat
by Mary Ann Peden-Coviello

It were our Petey what seen her first, stood out by where the dark trees ended and our clearing began. He run back to the cabin, yellin’, “Ma, Ma, they’s a gal standing by her lone up by the edge of the woods!”
All of us went out to see. He weren’t lyin’. A little girl stood there all by herself. Her white dress showed like a deer’s tail in the twilight. She clutched a ragged toy bear in her hands. And her face was covered by a bloody bandage. 
She give me the willies. 
“Ma, leave her be. Send her on her way.” I knowed I sounded cruel. I didn’t care. 
“Jodie Barnes, you should be ashamed,” Ma said.
I grabbed at her apron, but she shook me off and walked up the hill to where the gal stood. Ma took that gal by the hand and led her down and into our cabin.
Ma fed the gal soup. She cleaned up her tore-up face and her bloody eye sockets. Ma dressed her in our Mary Beth’s last year’s warm dress with the knitted collar and cuffs. 
And the little girl ain’t never said a word the whole time. 
I didn’t sleep good that night ’cause I kept wakin’ up thinkin’ that little girl was lookin’ at me in the dark. Starin’ at me with her empty eye sockets. Next day, she kept close to Ma all day. She ain’t never said a word, but she mewled like a kitten. Ma didn’t do her usual chores and all, just sat with that gal. listening to her mewling and pettin’ on her. 
The second day, the whole family ‘cept me was just sittin’ around and listenin’ to that gal mewl. I kept the fire goin’ all by myself and fixed some stew, but ain’t nobody but me ate none of it. 
That night, the gal went to the door and opened it. All the night sounds and the cold poured in. Ma, Petey, Jack, and Mary Beth – everyone but me – followed that gal out into the night. I called to ’em, but they paid me no mind at all. They trailed after that gal, right past Pa’s grave and off into the woods.
Was about an hour later that the screaming started. I barred the cabin door and hid myself. Wasn’t nothin’ I could do to help nobody nohow. 
Next day, Ma was stood at the edge of the clearing, right by Pa’s grave. Her dress was all tore up and bloody. 
“Ma!” I hollered at her. “Go away, Ma.” 
She ain’t said not a word. She mewled at me. And she reached out one hand. I felt that call right down to my soul. I wanted to go to her so bad I took a couple steps toward her. Then she grinned at me with a mouth full of blood.
I run back to the cabin and got Pa’s long gun. Loading the rifle on the run, I threatened the thing that used to be my mother. “You get on outta here. I ain’t just jawin’.”
She turned and disappeared into the trees. 
I reckoned she’d be back. And she was. Late that night, with the rest of ’em. Mewling and scratching at the door. The windows. The walls.
I felt ’em callin’ me.
The call got so strong. I was gonna give in. 
So I put the rifle in my mouth and pulled the trigger with my toes. Last thing I saw was the door creakin’ open and Ma’s face – eyeless, with a mouth full of jaggedy teeth – peekin’ ’round.
Fiction © Copyright Mary Ann Peden-Coviello
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Mary Ann Peden-Coviello:

maryannpedencoviello_frightmareFright Mare-Women Write Horror
Short Story: One Hour Before the Dark

Women write horror and have written it since before Mary Shelley wrote FRANKENSTEIN. This anthology is to highlight the fact women write great horror and to kill the fallacy that they aren’t in some way up to standard. They are. Read here stories by Elizabeth Massie, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Lucy Taylor, and a plethora of other great writers as they work on your nerves, get inside your head, and bang out some of the scariest tales written today. I’m proud to present these women for your consideration, as Rod Serling might say, as I ask you to step into FRIGHT MARE. Lock the door and windows, put on a light, and remember, it’s not real. It’s not real. Midnight awaits, monsters scheme to take you away, the strange and weird wait in the shadows, but it’s not real. Is it?

Edited by Billie Sue Mosiman, the author who brought you the SINISTER-TALES OF DREAD collections and her latest suspense novel, THE GREY MATTER.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_FEB_LOH

Ladybug
by Alex Grehy

“Ladybug, ladybug…”
That’s what you and your feral little gang shouted as you fled past me, laughing.
“Fly away home…”
“Your house is on fire…”
“Your children will burn…”
I was used to ignoring your racist taunts, but the wicked excitement in your voices filled me with dread. I dropped my shopping bags and ran home. The front door was ablaze; smoke poured from the roof. The fire roared, invigorated by the draft as I smashed a window, desperate to save my children. 
I failed.
They said, later, that I must have imagined my children’s screams. They said Pip and Arthur wouldn’t have had time to scream; smoke inhalation, they wouldn’t have suffered long.
They shouldn’t have suffered at all.
I should have known that the babysitter would run away at the first sign of trouble. That you’d be left free to throw petrol through the letterbox, to ignite it with a burning cigarette. All because our coffee skin, spotted with vitiligo, was different to yours.
I had my first tattoo soon after the fire – the pain of the needle was cathartic, addictive. The tattoo artist was reluctant, the large blocks of red and black were stark. But I needed the burning agony of the special ink to fuel my vengeance. Ladybug, you called me. Ladybug I became. When it was done, my victim’s skin had been transformed with a predator’s markings and laced with toxins.
Of course you were too stupid to read the warning signs. You and your gang were doomed when I let you lay hands on my skin. Once you were paralysed and helpless, I took my time over the finish. The screams that had echoed in my head since that day became real as I incinerated your sycophants in front of you. You begged for mercy where there was none to be earned.
Now I hold your head in my hands – your skull is raw and bloody from where I dipped it in paraffin and held it in the flames. A sooty blackness obscures your cheeks where your eyes melted like candlewax. Yet your mouth still gapes, striving for life. I pile wet leaves on the fire – the smoke is thick and acrid. I walk away, leaving you to suffocate, slowly…
Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

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After a lifetime of writing technical non-fiction, Alex Grey is fulfilling her dream of writing poems and stories that engage the reader’s emotions. Her work has been featured by a wide range of publications including Siren’s Call, Raconteur, Bookends Review, and Toasted Cheese. One of her comic poems is also available via a worldwide network of public fiction dispensers managed by French publisher, Short Edition. Her ingredients for contentment are narrow boating, greyhounds, singing and chocolate. It is a sweet life, yet Alex’ original view of the world has led to her best friend to say ‘For someone so lovely, you’re very twisted!

Please click here to discover more!   

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi @ErinAlMehairi @darc_nina #LoH #fiction #WiHM12

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_FEB_LOH

Seeing Eyes
by Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi

She hid herself, tucked away.
She hid herself, completely in time,
Or maybe it was from time.
She hid herself away, deeply,
And disappeared.
Then one day, cameras came,
And the reporters fumbled,
Trying to make sense of a pretty,
Nice girl being lost to
Such blood and abandon.
Her mother screamed.
Of course, she screamed
When death arrived, but
Didn’t care about emotions
Before, and the girl laughed
At the irony and wept at the
Pain all the same.
Her eyes were still open, a
Seeing hand, a third eye in
Life watching out, a fourth
Eye in Death, looking in and
Out and around. She wondered
If she was hidden well enough
Now or if her organs continually
Pulsed as they were ripped out…
And trashed. She was trash.
She could walk the strange,
Funhouse corridor, into light
And into shadows without notice.
She peeked around corners
With her one eye, her two eyes,
All the eyes, mostly trying to be
Able to see out of her self-inflicted
Prison. She looked hesitantly for a
Hand of connection at every corner.
In the crevices of the mirrors,
She saw reality and the sirens
And the morgue and the cemetery.
And she didn’t feel any more loved
Or needed as she did in life, only as if
Taking up some sort of molecule
Space, and she wasn’t more scared
Either as the loneliness was, and
Emptiness was, palpably similar.
They’d all evaluate on social media,
Be sad at circumstances, wish they
Could have done more, but if they
Cared maybe they’d have been less
Bitter, less competitive, less distracted.
And maybe they’d have connected
Their blossoming souls that
Harbored underneath waiting for
Nourishment but being shriveled by
The news in the evil world, by the lack
Of caring in human beings around them.
Maybe they’d see from all their eyes too,
And know that there was more to life.
She watched the glass of the mirrors
Around her shatter as she finally cried
Out, not missing her life, or anyone in life,
But life itself, or lack of one, the ability to
Live one full of humor, and love, and beauty.
Her third eye protected her,
her fourth eye covered her in dirt and regrets,
her two eyes made her wishful and wistful,
but now none of her eyes could save her
from the journey that could have been…
so instead they exploded, and she became stars
Hidden among the vastness and nothingness,
But finally, seeing fully.
Fiction © Copyright Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi
Fiction Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi:

Breathe. Breathe. 

Breathe. Breathe. is a collection of dark poetry and short fiction exploring the surreal depths of humanity. It’s a representation of how life breaks us apart and words put us back together. Purged onto the pages, dark emotions flow, urging readers into murky seas and grim forests, to the fine line between breathing and death.In Act One, readers are presented with a serial killer in Victorian London, a lighthouse keeper with an eerie legacy, a murderous spouse that seems to have walked right out of a mystery novel, and a treacherous Japanese lady who wants to stay immortal. The heightened fears in the twilight of your minds will seep into the blackest of your nights, where you have to breathe in rhythm to stay alive.

In Act Two, the poetry turns more internal and pierces through the wall of denial and pain, bringing visceral emotions to the surface unleashing traumas such as domestic abuse, violence, and illness.
In the short stories, you’ll meet residents of Valhalla Lane whose lives are on a violent parallel track to collision, a man who is driven mad by the sound of a woodpecker, a teenage girl who wakes up on the beach and can’t find another soul in sight, a woman caught in a time shift pitting her against the Egyptian goddess Anuket, and a little girl whose whole world changes when her favorite dandelion yellow crayon is discontinued.
Amid these pages the haunting themes of oppression, isolation, revenge, and madness unfold through folklore, nightmares, and often times, raw, impulsive passion crafted to sear from the inside out.
With a touching foreword by the Bram Stoker nominated author Brian Kirk, Breathe. Breathe. will at times unsettle you, and at times embrace you. Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi, a veteran writer and editor of the written word, offers up a mixed set of pieces, identifying her as a strong, new voice in dark fiction that will tear the heart from your chest, all the while reminding you to breathe.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Michelle Joy Gallagher @Aphelia @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_FEB_LOH

Below the Surface
by Michelle Joy Gallagher

Ida watched the man in black as he placed her lifeless body into the wooden cart. She felt her body jostled as he dragged the cart over the cobblestoneof the back alley toward the river. Her feet and hands were bound, and he weighted her jacket with rocks. When he tipped the cart, spilling her lifeless body into the water, she tried to scream but nothing came out. He’d stopped her screaming for good when he’d surprised her with a knife on her way home from the shops. The river was a short trip from the apartment he’d rented for just this purpose. There were others before her: as her body sank, she recognized others there in the silt. The blue dress of the barmaid from the tavern down the road, the cornsilk hair of the tailor’s daughter. She knew there’d be others after her. He was piling them up like garbage. No one noticed or cared. He wore fine clothes and paid for everything in advance. No one questioned a thing.  
When she hit the bottom, darkness drew around her in a silt curtain. As it settled, she lay there transfixed by the moonlight at the surface. It was so beautiful, refracted in the waves. She wanted to reach out and grab it. She felt motion in her fingers and discovered she was slowly regaining the ability to move. She didn’t know how any of this was possible. She was dead. She should have been like the others. The water currents tugged and pulled at the flaps of skin where he’d carved into her. She felt nothing now, but the pain had been white hot and blinding.  
Day after day she tested her strength and range of movement. The water carried her closer to the other bodies, creating a sort of vortex of misery. Fish fed on her mindlessly. She tried batting them away but was still too weak. On the 4th day below the surface, she saw a disturbance and realized with horror it was another woman’s body being tossed in with the rest. He had continued to kill, unchecked and no one was looking for her.  
As her ability to move returned, the bodies started to pile up on and around her. She fought a whole day to dislodge herself from under a sweet-faced girl with a jagged cut deep in her throat. An intense anger began to bloom inside of her. When she felt she’d gotten satisfactory movement back in her legs, she pulled herself up on top of some of the poor women’s bodies and found purchase on the rocks lining the riverbank. As she pulled herself to the surface, through the mess of flayed and rotting flesh of her face, her eyes spoke only of revenge. She waited on the edge of the water for the sun to set. When she heard the sound of the wooden cart and the man’s heavy footsteps, she smiled. 
Fiction © Copyright Michelle Joy Gallagher
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Michelle Joy Gallagher:
blkhwkBlackhawk: Volume 2

Welcome to Blackhawk, Colorado. Blackhawk has always been strange. Natural disasters. Disappearances. Murders. High strangeness is a part of daily life. We can’t hope to explain it, but we can chronicle its past. Learn from it. Fear it. Blackhawk is an experimental fiction series set in a shared universe, written by a variety of talented authors. It is the brainchild of David M Brown (Plague Doctor, Modern Animals) and Carl D Smith (Moleb the Giant, Darkness Out of Carthage). Each story will contribute to an organic, evolving mythology as diverse as the voices behind its tales. For fans of True Detective, Lost Highway, Twilight Zone, and The Terror. This is Volume Two of the series and contains five stories by five different authors, each in tune with the specific strangeness Blackhawk has to offer. NOTE: For fans of Lake Lord Publishing’s prior horror titles, be warned that Blackhawk will contain content that is perhaps more disturbing and mature.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Terrie Leigh Relf @TLRelf @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_FEB_LOHMurder in Her Eyes
by Terrie Leigh Relf

The girl stood by the roadside, her beautiful party dress covered with a boy’s dark jacket, a teddy bear held loosely before her. It was cold outside, almost brutally so, but she seemed comfortable, almost relaxed, despite the blood-stained gauze that partially covered her forehead and eyes. I stopped the car to ask if she needed help, whether I could give her a ride. She climbed into the passenger’s seat with a smile, said “thank you,” and we drove down the rural lane. 
treasured moments
with a childhood friend
murdered decades ago
Fiction © Copyright Terrie Leigh Relf
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Terrie Leigh Relf:

The Sisterhood of the Blood Moon

For thousands of Earth years, the Transgalactic Consortium has had a quiet interest in this planet and its inhabitants, the Haurans. While the Sisterhood of the Blood Moon works together with the Consortium and Haurans to maintain balance in the universe, the Blood Moon is fast approaching. The power of this moon reveals untold secrets . . . including a sacred covenant with the Mora Spiders. There is an ancient pact that needs to be honored—but at what cost and for whose purpose? The world may come to an end. But will there be a chance for a new beginning?

Available for purchase from the Alban Lake Store!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

003_FEB_LOH

Playroom Regrets
by Angela Yuriko Smith

away, crimson globe!
—an escapee, on the run—
vanishing though drains
leaving pain and tears
with the wailing child behind.
the end of a world.
hurled into sewers
by a sibling. catacombs
and new horizons
to surprise one ball
breaking free of the playroom
ready for new games
and refrains of song
snatched from young lips to be lost.
bobbing, he waited
degraded in muck
uplifted by adventure.
he had no regrets.
she crept from the soot
denizen of the ashes
child of oily grime
in time to wonder
at this strange, Upper World gift
now smudged in her hands.
lands from whence it came
a mystery to the Blind Ones
forever in dark.
embarking no more
from these strange and nightmare lands—
missing the play room.
Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

Angela Yuriko Smith is an American poet, author and co-publisher of Space and Time magazine, a publication that has been printing speculative fiction, art and poetry since 1966. Together we build a poem as a community each month. Visit “Exquisite Corpse” at SpaceandTime.net to submit.

Catch up with Angela here!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lori R. Lopez @LoriRLopez @darcnina #LoH #fiction #poem #poetry

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

002_FEB_LOHThe Cellar Under the Morgue
by Lori R. Lopez

“Is this where the bodies are buried?”
Delivered as a joke — in an uneasy manner.
The Patient stifled a laugh or scream.
“Where am I?”  A nervous query.
The figure faced away, rigid yet serene.
Head slightly bowed.  A statue or a Nurse?
The angel turned, pale as White Marble.
“Under the Morgue.”  A distant reply.
“Is my surgery done?”  Shaky, rising off
an unyielding surface, afraid to ask the outcome.
A meager gown did nothing for the chill.
He stumbled, feeling inept.  “This is awkward.”
Baby steps.  A gesture at curved molds
shaped like Grave Markers.  Hollowed-out
Tombstones.  Frames lacking substance.
No name or date; awaiting.  “What are those?”
Intense, she granted a smile, the kind that
can mask unthinkable notions, the very worst
of plots.  He marveled at perfect features.
“I drugged you.”  As if spoken from afar.
Her broad stony orbs could have been ice.
A cool sculpted hand lifted to caress his cheek.
The contact, light, almost imagined, burned.
“Wheeled you here.”  A quiet boast.
How it scorched!  The truth.  That touch.
His jaw sank.  No sound emerged.  His heart
thrashed.  A fish on land.  A fallen bird.
“My daddy tinkered.”  Cryptic and faint.
The flopping subsided.  His mouth gaped,
askew.  Vocal Chords strained — rasping for
words, as fists uncurled bore garish prizes.
“You needed work.”  Scarcely audible.
Ears embedded; occult symbols in each palm!
His thumbs were missing, removed, protruding
hornlike over temples.  “No!” wailed a freak.
“Now you’re beautiful.”  Too soft, exultant.
He sensed the digits without reaching —
sewn, fused in crazed symmetry.  Outraged,
unsteady, glaring, he whirled to escape . . .
“My father’s workshop.”  So dim her voice.
And viewed the steel slab beneath a lamp.
Medical devices.  Scalpels, Forceps, a Bone Saw.
He raised his hands to either side of his face.
Loud and clear behind him:  “Stay with me.”
The man could hear through his palms, beside
his mug.  Turning back, he noticed she too was
marred.  One of her eyes blinked on her hand.
She lowered it.  “Aren’t we wonderful?”
He beheld a scar, flesh rough, sealed to hide
an empty socket.  And felt ashamed of staring,
of treating her features as deformed.  Ugly!
“We’re both unique.”  He offered an open hand.
Their fingers locked.  She chattered, beaming.
“We only bury the mistakes.  I knew you’d be
the one!  My poppa made you just for me.”
Her beau drew her near.  “The perfect pair.”
He chose to ignore a field of Headstones
in a corner of the earthen cellar floor.  Love
is blind.  At last he found his match . . .
Simultaneously cured of being all thumbs.
Fiction © Copyright Lori R. Lopez
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Lori R. Lopez:

LoriRLopez_Darkverse Darkverse: The Shadow Hours

A rich gathering of poetry with a dismal twilight atmosphere, a brooding nature, an eerie tone . . . DARKVERSE: THE SHADOW HOURS encompasses such pieces written by Lori R. Lopez between 2009 and 2017, collected in three of her POETIC REFLECTIONS volumes along with humorous and serious verse. This ample compendium allows a more focused reading experience and mood — presenting poems that share speculative themes, flashes of horror, glimpses of madness.

Lori is the author of THE DARK MISTER SNARK, THE STRANGE TAIL OF ODDZILLA, LEERY LANE, MONSTROSITIES, AN ILL WIND BLOWS, and THE FAIRY FLY among other tales. She has been called a storyteller, whether composing verse or prose.

The aim of her Darkverse series is to offer a chilling trek through unlit stretches where all manner of creeps and kooks may lurk; where graveyards and bogs and full-moons abound. The pages of The Shadow Hours illuminate those morbid uncanny perils and dreads that inhabit drab corners, the known and unknown terrors of the night. Vivid and distinct, her voice echoes our worst fears then delves beyond, exposing hitherto unimaginable frights.

Prepare to confront a motley array of ghouls and menaces that might just move under your bed.

DARKVERSE: THE SHADOW HOURS is an Elgin Award Nominee and a 2018 Kindle Book Awards Poetry Finalist. Look for an Illustrated Print Edition with quirky art by the author.

Available on Amazon!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

001_FEB_LOH

In Praise of the Younger Model
by Suzanne Madron
It was getting harder and harder to keep up with the trends. What was in? What was out? This week it was one style, next week another.
The fact of the matter was that getting older was out and being younger and younger was in. Youth was and always had been in high demand. Ultimately, what was needed was a complete makeover. Start from scratch and be done with the whole thing. Sustainability was always the issue, though, wasn’t it? How did one manage to keep ahead of the aging process?
“This procedure,” the doctor said, pointing to one of the images on the promotional poster plastered to the office’s institutional neutral beige wall, “will ensure dates for decades. And this one,” she pointed to another picture, “will help you maintain your youthful glow.”
It was as simple as picking off a menu. They went through the options and the decision was made. The doctor smiled at the selection of the first – and most expensive – procedure. “Let’s get you started then!” As she applied the mask that would administer the anesthesia she said, “I have to warn you, your friends and family won’t recognize you when we’re done here.” And she giggled conspiratorially.
But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To be a whole new person.
The procedure took hours. The outcomes were unexpected. Indeed, there was no recognition.
The extender bars in the shins were painful and the missing ribs were painful but barely missed. A glance in the mirror, after the bandages were removed, ensured he would always be attractive as long as he was wearing one of his prepared faces.
“You look great!” the doctor exclaimed. “And you made the right choice. You hardly even notice my face lines until I take it off.” She picked at what appeared to be a small scar along the underside of her earlobe and peeled her face away. “See? Easy peasy! Just remember to replace your face every month or so so it doesn’t get attached and moisturize!”
He tottered out on his elongated and scarred legs, wearing his new face, and with a prescription for more lab-grown faces in his pocket.
Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Suzanne Madron:

For Sale or Rent

The house across the street seems to go on the market every few months, but this time nothing about the sale is normal, including the new owners. No sooner has the for sale sign come down and the neighborhood is thrown into a Lovecraftian nightmare and the only way to find out is to attend the house warming party.

Available on Amazon!

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Please don’t forget to visit the other WiHM 12 projects taking place!

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

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

004_FEB_LOHEye See You
by Kathleen McCluskey

Lieutenant Carson was a hardened detective with the San Diego police department and had seen his share of gruesome murders. He was baffled by the sheer brutality of the murders being perpetrated onto his city. He leaned back in his chair and took a long drag of his cigarette. A large sigh came from him as he recalled the most recent of these murders. He looked out the window and down onto the city that he loved and sighed again. Shaking his head, he began his report.
He remembered how the responding officer to the 9-11 call had thrown up and needed assistance from the ambulance. With his hands shaking he called the detective. When Carson arrived he was shocked to see a twelve year old girl with large bloody bandages on her eyes. He immediately knew that this was the work of the man that the press named, “The Eye See You” killer. Upon further investigation he saw that she still clutched her stuffed teddy bear. He had to push the lump down from his throat to speak to the other officers. He wanted to find this man and shoot him in the face.
Later that evening Carson fell asleep on his couch. Since Linda left he rarely slept in their marital bed, it was just too painful for him. As he slept, he began to dream. Kristy visited him in his dreams. She still had the bloodied bandages on her eyes and her teddy bear clutched in her hand. Kristy took the detective by the hand and showed him her death. He could see the back of a large man standing over her. She was pleading for her life, begging and crying. He pushed her down with his hand on her throat and cut her eyes out. It looked as though he was repulsed by what he had done and began to bandage her. Kristy moved the detective closer to the scene. The man turned and looked right at them. Carson was horrified to see himself staring back at them. He had found the “Eye See You” killer.
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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Please don’t forget to visit the other WiHM 12 projects taking place!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Women in Horror Month, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments