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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Unfelt Flames of Kate Leone
by Angela Yuriko Smith

The beginning and the end
are the same moment for me
today when the flames around us
engulf the unfelt flames in my heart
and my future, my dreams and tomorrows—
and God, us and them—
and everything I know—
in a moment, turns to ash.

I am on fire—aflame!
for life, for the butcher boy
and for my expected $7
earned from my 52 loyal hours
spent cutting shirtwaists no longer in fashion
for ladies I will never know
and as the lady I will never be
in a moment, turns to ash.

Saturday night—and freedom!—
approaches with the fire that blisters
the blisters that I fussed over this morning
on my tired end-of-the-week fingers.
Ignorant, I blindly wasted this day.
I let it spin by, unseen, my eyes glued on the end
where I follow the crowd, not to death, but to pay that
in a moment, turns to ash.

I have pined for the moment where I can be on fire
eager for the promised kiss that now wastes
poised on my lips, parted not from a sigh, but a cry
as the unfelt flames of my youth are consumed
by the conflagration that surrounds us all.
Dawn rose with its usual promise of life
never hinting at an end at the end of a day that
in a moment, turns to ash.


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 to submit.

Catch up with Angela here!


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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!


Children of the Stones 
by Suzanne Madron 

I think about the old rock quarry a lot. I certainly think about it more now than I did back then, when it was still part of my life, with its dark-stained stream bleeding out of the nearby swamp into its quicksand crevices.

My siblings and I grew up amongst the familiar outcroppings and mud of that quarry. We spent our days and nights swimming in the dark-stained stream, diving down into the depths where no one could see us and resurfacing far enough away to float among the reeds, unseen.

We were happy then, before the men and machines came and blasted our family sanctum apart and long after the machines were left dead and rusting, the metal skeletons half-sunk and fossilizing in the dirt of a hundred landslides at the bottom of the quarry.

We persisted when they were all gone, we grew up, and we moved out. The plan was simple. Humans came into our home and destroyed it and now we live in their homes of wood and steel and glass. It seems fitting that we will bring down their world just as they brought down our hillsides and mountains in order to make their houses and buildings all those years ago. We have reclaimed what was ours, and when the time comes, our children will return to the stones we left.


Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of


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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Jaime Johnesee @JaimeJohnesee @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Mr. Bonner’s House of Horrors 
by Jaime Johnesee 

Lilibet skipped down the street, exuding joy for the first time in a long time. Her braids bounced behind her and she brought smiles to the villagers’ faces.

“Hello, Bet!” Mr. Andersen waved.

“Hello!” Lilibet skipped past, waving back as she did so.

“Lili, I have to come see your mama for a tincture for my arm, is she in today?” Mrs. Crease asked.

“No. She’s gone for good!” the little girl hollered happily and kept skipping.

Mrs. Crease and Mr. Andersen looked at each other over the fence, puzzled by what the girl had said.

“Lilibet! What do you mean?” Mrs. Crease asked, uncomfortably.

“I killed her, Papa, too. I even killed Hawk!” she blurted, giggled, and returned to skipping.

“She must be joking,” Mr. Andersen said, his face pale.

“Must be. Let’s go see,” Mrs. Crease opened her gate and waited for Andersen to do the same.

He joined her and they hurried to the home of Rose, Hunter, Hawk, and Lilibet.

It was two streets over and took some time for them to get there.

“The front door is wide open. Maybe we should get the sheriff?” Mrs. Crease toyed with her handkerchief uncomfortably.

“I’m going to go in and see. Could be she’s just telling tales and forgot to close the door behind her,” he said, stepping into the house and shouting, “hello!”

It wasn’t long before he came running back out, “go get the sheriff,” said between gags and heaves, he vomited by the front stoop.

Mrs. Crease ran to the sheriff’s office and begged for help.

The sheriff entered the house to see all four family members dead.

Rose, Hunter, and Hawk had been stabbed multiple times by a pair of sewing shears. Lilibet’s young body hung from the railing leading to the second floor.

A note left on the kitchen table read, “They didn’t believe me about Mr. Bonner. That he did things to me, bad things, things my parents knew about. He paid them to stay quiet. He paid Hawk too. They also didn’t believe me about the child ghosts I saw. The ones like me, the ones Mr. Bonner made. So I made sure they could see them. After everything I did, and everything he did to me, I just wanted to be a ghost, too. I’m sorry if this means I go to Hell, but I sure don’t want to be here anymore. Lilibet.”

“If she’s gone, who was that we saw skipping by us? And what ghosts is she talking about?” Mr. Andersen asked the sheriff.

Mrs. Crease heard none of it as she was face down on the floor having fainted at the horrors around her.

“It’s a damn shame, such a sweet kid. I had my suspicions about Bonner, but he left town yesterday. Nothing we can do about it now,” the sheriff shrugged and turned to Mr. Andersen, “go get Doc Woods. Tell him to bring some smelling salts will ya? Damn shame.”

The sheriff shook his head as Andersen gladly ran from the house of horrors.


Fiction © Copyright Jaime Johnesee
Image courtesy of


More from Jaime Johnesee:

Shifters: A Samantha Reece Mystery

When a serial killer begins leaving remains of victims in hotel bathtubs all over town FBI Agent Samantha Reece makes it her business to stop him.

This detective’s got an ace up her sleeve in the form of her ability to shift into the guise of a were panther. As she tracks down the cold-hearted murderer she also has to contend with an anti-shifter group determined to destroy her.

Not to mention the black jaguar who turned her decides to come sauntering back into her life.

Available on Amazon!


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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author A.F. Stewart @scribe77 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Not Again
by A.F. Stewart

I’m cold and a breeze is blowing up my… dress. Everything feels twisted and a musty stench fills my nose. What am I lying on? Some scratchy fabric—did I tie one on and end up at Scooter’s place? I open my eyes, expecting a hangover.

Oh shit, it happened again.

I’m in the middle of a who-knows-where field sprawled on a grimy couch with my legs flying high and my ass one inch from mooning the wildlife. For half a minute, I hope it’s not… but then I smell the blood and the stink of viscera.

Another body. About six feet from the couch, oozing fluid into the dirt from a shredded abdomen. I can still taste the raw meat and blood in my mouth.

Damn shit demon. We had a deal. No more blackouts.

I’m supposed to be aware during the kills.

Wait is the dead guy my ex?

Now that damn demon has gone too far. 

He promised me I could eat Ralph. 



More from A.F. Stewart:


Visions and Nightmares

Tragedy spares no one… and takes no prisoners.
In the twilight shadows, secrets are revealed past the whispers of madness.

Wander into the realm of the old gods with Elenora, where humanity and marriage are a prison.
Step through a looking glass of dark horrors with an Alice you never knew.
Join with Zenna to seek the truth as her death by magic grows closer.
Journey with Olivia as she crosses paths with a monster of the forest and runs for her life.
Watch Isobel summon the faerie to solve her problem of an unwanted husband.
Shiver as Doctor Killbride experiments with corpses to create life from death.
All that and more await within the pages.

Ten stories. Ten women.
Who will survive? Who will fall? And who will succumb to their inner evil?
Find out in Visions and Nightmares.

Warning: This book contains disturbing scenes that may be upsetting to some readers.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


One For All and All For One  
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

My sisters and I were thick as thieves. You never saw one without the others. We were three peas from the same pod, but that didn’t make us identical. Veronique was the clothes horse–always trying to live up to that silly affectation of a name. Sylvie loved sports and the outdoors. She was a true sylvan at heart. As for me, I was the “normal” one–read boring and belittled. Aside from my sisters, no one ever bothered to learn my real name. They all called me Jenny, though my name was Genvieve.

The year we turned eighteen, my mother wanted to mark the occasion in a big way. I guess she’d earned it, having “to birth all us babies at once.” She never tired of reminding us about that…

Ronnie and Sylvie were having none of it. They refused to have anything to do with the party. I sighed and did whatever Mom asked me to do. It was exhausting, but Mom needed me, and for once I was the “good daughter.”

The party was grandiose and definitely over the top. I fielded questions about where the others were until I was ready to scream, but I managed to make it through the night.

Finally, it was over and I could retreat to our room. The perfect pretty palace for spoiled adolescent girls…it hadn’t changed a bit since we were twelve. Because that was the year I had to start the pretending. Some days, Sylvie went to school and played on the volleyball team and captained the cheerleading squad. Sometimes, Veronique went shopping with Mumsy’s credit cards. Every now and then, Jenny went to class.

Or skipped school and went to visit her sisters in the woods. They are in a better place, I know. But I couldn’t let them keep taking, taking, and taking from Mom and I had to do something about it.

We used to be all for one…but now, we are one for all. And I am the one.

Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of

line_separator2More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:


Overheard in Hell:
Dark Poetry

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

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

Available on Amazon!


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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!

Blood Sisters 
by Marge Simon 

Thanks for the light, lover. Come close, I shall tell you a secret about me and my sisters. Tonight, you may call me Carmilla. Born of landed gentry, a life of leisure lay ahead until I was courted by a certain Count. You might say he gave my death – er, life, new meaning. By mutual consent, we enjoy an open union.

My closest sister, sweet Aimee, traveled from Paris to the Colonies in 1868. She settled in postbellum New Orleans and became a respectable mistress, and later, an elite Madam. Adventurous Delphine took off for the Libyan Desert, hoping to sample Rommel’s blood in ’41. Sometimes we see her face depicted outside bars in Cairo where various pleasures may be procured. Miriam left for Bangladesh in ’63. She was the religious one, though meditation didn’t work for her. Still, she likes that filthy place, perhaps for its music, but more likely for the ease of sanguine samples. Ling is the oldest of us all, certainly the most talented as well. She pens songs for rock stars, assists in their success or failure depending on her inscrutable mood.

Many years have passed since we were turned, yet our faces are ageless.  Though the wine is better quality, the blood is thinner. Manhattan’s neon lights form irreal colors, incredible as our own undead lives. New Year’s Eve we gather to watch traffic from my flat, dots moving along the horizon like a zircon necklace. We toast the new year, for tomorrow promises passions we have yet to know.


Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of 


More from Marge Simon:


by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

The title of this collection sets you up for the surprise of lyrical stories of victimizations with unexpected endings for the villains. Be ready to have your heart opened and cheer for perceived victims, human (made and unmade) and other life forms, victorious in the hands of these two award-winning poets. —Linda D. Addison, award-winning author, HWA Lifetime Achievement Award recipient and SFPA Grand Master.

Across histories and cultures and from Auschwitz to Babylon this book leaves you questioning who are the victims, and regardless of your conclusion you’re likely to get throat-punched. This is horror where everyone has a knife, and is ready to deliver this message: “Remember, you are always guilty. —Herb Kauderer, author of Fragments from the Book of the After-Dead.

Simon and Turzillo have only gone and startled me again. What a collection! Brutal. Beautiful. This quiver of poems strikes with the unflinching truth of persecution and oppression as seen through the lens of feminism. Prepare to come away bruised and yet strangely bolstered by Victims, a symphony of sadness orchestrated by two masters of dark poetry. —Lee Murray, Bram Stoker and Shirley Jackson Award-winner.

This is one of the braver dark poetry collections I’ve seen in a while. Horror poets generally employ victims in their work, but the focus is generally on the Evil. Turning the camera the other way is unusual, unsettling, emotionally risky, and surprisingly effective. From their stark opening take on Pygmalion, to the ending poem about the wasted life of Stateira of Persia, this powerful collection teases apart an impressive number of the threads of victimhood. Some are the usual cases, but quite a few are surprises, or reversals, or cases with unexpected layers. There is nothing repetitive about this collection. —Timons Esaias, winner of the Asimov’s Readers’ Award and the Winter Anthology Contest

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!

O Brave New World that has such people in it
by Amanda Worthington

The god in her massages her brain

And she tries not to faint


The glasses she wears

Came from a corpse she encountered

In an abandoned library


She had brown skin like hers


She does not know her own name

But the dead woman was called Miranda

It was emblazoned on the badge she wore

Like a cipher


And it felt powerful

Like it alone

Could keep the tempest at bay


And so she wears it like armor

As she ascends the pulpit

Not quite knowing what she’ll say


She prepares to read

And they listen, faces upturned

Eager to receive the ghosts

That spring suddenly to life

In the rich dark of her eyes


The assembled crowd blurs before her

She feels them shift uneasily as she begins:


“We are stories in the end

Our truths are stitched into our skins

Which bind our pages

Your gods within will soon awaken

They will rage drunkenly until they settle

Into the rhythm of you, their new hosts


You will remember then the days of sun

And how the ash darkened our skies

And how the First Ones

Ate it in handfuls

Hoping maybe it would revive them

Knowing as they did what it really was

Less fortunate bodies reduced


You must be prepared to consume flesh this time

Before it is dust

And when you do, you must trust in the power of the act

Vow that you will remember the form your meal last took

Promise to speak the departed’s story

Every day


And you must not ask what I am

I’m afraid I ask the only questions here


Here’s my final one;

Will you be saved?

The promised land beckons

To the brave

But the price of entry

Isn’t a thing

Every soul can afford”


She turns to a fair woman

Who has blanched noticeably

The pink receding from her cheeks

Like a tide that only ebbs, recedes

Retreats forever


Several women nod

They are the hard kind who will outlast the men, she knows

Some of these darker, larger shapes draw knives in hunger

But they are fewer than she’d imagined


And when Miranda steps down, she feels shaky

Falls to the earth

Struggles to rise

And wonders at the looks on the faces

Of those who had drunk

The god’s sermon down

Like communion.


The blonde woman reaches a hand down

Helps the fallen child to her feet

Kneels to her height

“You’re so young…none of this is right.”


She goes on then

Fades into the shadows

And the night rushes in to fill

The void her passing leaves

And it is blessedly quiet


And the girl thinks only of sleep.



Wicked Deeds: Witches, Warlocks, Demons and Other Evil Doer’s

Sometimes wicked people do wicked things simply because they can… The twelve stories in Wicked Deeds tell tales of witches and warlocks with ill intent, devilish demons bent on destruction, and other doers of evil who make the world a terrifying place. What is a mother to do when her daughter is gifted but lives under the thumb of her fanatical preacher husband who will brook no talk of the supernatural? What of a demon so desperate to free himself of a trap that he will force another to repeat his atrocities and condemn a young boy to his demonic fate? Or maybe the story of a crotchety old witch with a score to settle against the town she lives in is more to your liking – what evil will the seemingly harmless town-crazy call upon when faced with an ultimatum? If you’re looking for wicked people with supernatural abilities doing wicked things, this is the collection for you!

Available on Amazon!


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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


by Ela Lourenco 


As you kick in my belly

The sun shines on me

It is just the two of us now

How it was always meant to be

Here in the place that time stood still

Where the outside is not welcome

And dare not come

I have sold my soul to the devil

For you sweet child of mine

I have no regrets

The man who would be your father

Was unworthy and cruel

For you my sweet child

I ripped out his still beating heart

None shall lay a hand on you

It will be only you and me



Fiction © Copyright Ela Lourenco
Image courtesy of

More from Ela Lourenco:

awakeningDragon Born: Book Three

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

Available on Amazon!


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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Deer Lady 
by Elaine Pascale 

The drums beat loudly and she dances. Lost in the rhythm, she does not seem to notice those around her. She does not pay attention when the man in the hat shoves his date or when the man with the moustache calls his wife a “bitch.”

She dances as long as the drums play, her feet sounding like tap shoes even though they are clad only in tightly-bound wraps.

“You a China doll?” the man in the hat sneers.

“Look at her tiny feet.” Moustache man laughs.

They stop talking when her hips make small circles. They become so hypnotized by her gyrations that they forget to bully the women with them.

“Do not follow her into the woods,” the bartender warns when the drumming stops and the men settle their tabs.

“Do not follow her into the woods,” the regulars repeat.

The men do not listen. Later, their bodies are found, trampled by cloven feet.

No matter how old she becomes, she dances whenever there is a drum beat. Her hips still follow a sensuous rhythm that makes those who watch forget her age. Her feet tap within the bindings, hiding the secret dangers that begin when the drums stop.


Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of


More from Elaine Pascale:

The Blood Lights

They victimize all…

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

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

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


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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Little Red Grows Up  
by Alex Grehy

“Wear your best red cloak and hood

when you walk in the forest, those

woodsmen are lonely, they deserve

some good girls in their lives.”


That’s what Mama Goose always

said as she sent her daughters

to ‘see grandma’ with their goodies 

in exchange for hard cash.


Well, that wasn’t me.


When my day came, I said NO!,

Mama got out her whip. But I trussed her

and plucked her, used her white down

for a headdress, set my poor sisters free. 


The first hunter I met thought my outfit

quite fetching, he put down his gun,

got undressed, never suspecting. 

Do you like my warm camouflage coat?


So on to ‘grandma’s’, where a lusty great

wolf lay in a sordid, stained bed. What big ears,

what big eyes, what a big…oh, that’s a shame.

Do you like the fur trim on my hood?


I skip down the path, singing 

tra-laa as I go. I hear the three pigs

are in town. They don’t know it yet,

but they’re guests at a barbecue.


Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of


More from author Alex Grehy:


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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