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

Posted on May 22, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Monsters  
by Alex Grehy

“Child, next time you tend to the dragon’s fire use this timber.”

The Eldest passed Ayesha the carefully chopped wood, each piece honed to the perfect length and depth to provide consistent heat to the incubation jars. Her hands appreciated the oily smoothness of each log, glad that tomorrow, at least, she would not spend her evening picking splinters from her palms. 

She looked round the ring of Elders, her tribal leaders, leaning forward to bow to them in gratitude

“Not too close to the fire, child, we must not char our gift to the dragons.” the Eldest cautioned.

“A gift. How lovely, I am sure the dragons will be pleased…”

Her voice trailed away. The dragons rarely showed any emotion that a human could read. The fact that Ayesha hadn’t been eaten or incinerated was as near to satisfaction with her work as she would get.

“A gift is long overdue. Have we not been neighbours for many centuries? Do the dragons not give us employment, protection and a rich living on their lands?” the Eldest said, while the circle of Elders nodded gravely.

“True, they take a tithe of three Elders each year, but that seems too little a tribute to show our…appreciation. The wood is a simple gift, but one which we think they will remember for many years.” The Elders nodded, a faint ripple of laughter passing between them. 

 “As we remember those of the wise who were taken.” The Eldest concluded.

Ayesha clutched the bundle of logs, her eyes downcast. Delivering a gift to the dragons sounded like an honour she had not earned.

“Eldest, may I ask a question?”

“Speak, child.”

“I am not worthy to approach the Great Dragon with this gift. Surely one of greater worth should present this token of our gratitude.” 

The Eldest leapt up from his seat, his agitation moving around the circle of Elders like a whirlwind in a field of wheat. The Eldest walked into the circle and put his hands on Ayesha’s shoulders.

“No, no, you misunderstand your importance. You are nursemaid to the dragon’s eggs. It would be crass of us to present a gift to the Great Dragon in a ceremony, better to deliver a more…personal…honour. We praise the dragons by tending their young with especial care. Just stoke the fires tomorrow as you would any other day. There is much respect and esteem in your work.

***

“What have you DONE?” roared the Great Dragon.

Ayesha knelt in the cage of his talons; eyes downcast.

“I was caring for the eggs, as is my sacred duty. I don’t understand what happened.” She coughed, trying to rid her lungs of the acrid smoke surrounding the incubation jars. The special wood, the gift, had exploded scant minutes after being placed on the night’s embers, fracturing the jars and wreathing the leather-hard dragon’s eggs in a poisonous fume. 

“None survive.” The Great Dragon’s partner said, lifting her head from the disconsolate heap of eggs she had gathered from the shards. Some of the eggs had split, the iridescent infants within fully formed, beautiful beyond words, and utterly still. 

“Your DUTY? To whom?” 

Ayesha lifted her eyes, driven by the Great Dragon’s hypnotic compulsion. She saw herself reflected in his pearlescent eyes – a ten-year-old girl, covered in soot, her skin red where flying embers had flayed her clothing into rags. Her hands curled with pain, burned as she had tried to roll the eggs away from the poisonous fumes.

“The Elders told me the wood was a gift, that they owed you gratitude for the quality of their lives…”

Ayesha faltered as a great drop of warm liquid splashed over her face. She flinched, then looked down at her hands, her skin was new, soft and pink, healed by the dragon’s tears.

“A gift? Indeed.” said the Great Dragon. “A gift of malice from creatures who thought nothing of killing our innocent young, of destroying a whole generation.”

“I am sorry! Please, take my life in lieu!” Ayesha cried, feeling the unbearable weight of her people’s betrayal and the dragon’s grief.

The Great Dragon released her from his claws.

“No! We do not take the lives of innocents, we are not monsters.” he replied.

.

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 Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 21, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Reap What You Sow 
by Elaine Pascale 

The man swings his scythe through the wheat, cutting it from its source. He needed this back-breaking work. Last harvest, he had wielded a bayonet, reaping what others had sown. That work had been brain-breaking, destructive. He found psychological shelter in the productivity of farming.

He hoped to harvest and bind his acres within the week. That would require long days which would hopefully induce sleep-heavy nights. He silently begged whatever god was still listening for dreams absent of the cornfield at Antietam. He prayed to be free of the memories of the bloodiest day this soil had seen.

One sweep of the scythe severed a good five feet of wheat, distributing heads to one pile, stems to another. The wheat was high but only half as high as the corn had been and one-third as thick. Bullets had cascaded through the rows of corn as they had fought blindly, not knowing if they were harming the enemy or their own. Losing sight of what it meant to be the enemy or their own.

As he worked, the ground beneath him puckered and he imagined it to be full of his transgressions, of the bodies he felled for a cause he no longer believed in.

The days were growing short, his shadow growing long enough that it could swallow him several times over. Being submerged in blackness did not sound bad. Especially if it meant freedom from the visions of that cornfield.

The man had stopped swinging, yet he heard the sound of a scythe sweeping behind him. Being alone in the field, the noise should have been terrifying, but the pendulum rhythm lulled him. A shadow fell over his own, longer than his own, stretching on until it covered not only his farm but all the land that had been doused with blood when brothers had fought brothers.

“I know who you are,” the man whispered. He had seen that shadow and heard that sound in the cornfield. At that time, it had passed him over, taking instead hundreds of others.

The sound of the scythe grew closer. If he could see his own eyes, would they look like those he had encountered on the battlefield? Terrified yet world-weary at the same time?

He knew his eyes would appear empty. He had lost the humanity required for fear. He simply regretted not being able to finish his harvest.

.

Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pixaby.com

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More from Elaine Pascale:

TheKitchenWitches_ElainePascaleThe 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 Melissa R. Mendelson @melissmendelson @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 21, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Keep Your Hands To Yourself
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

A little girl stood beside her mother, who picked through fruits and vegetables at the local farmer’s market.  She twirled around and around, enjoying the sunlight, trying to catch it with her hands.  She looked up into the bright blue sky with soft, little clouds and glanced at her mother, and she blew a strand of brown hair off her face.  She took a step away to see if her mother noticed, and she didn’t.  She moved further away.

The farmer’s market was small, several booths close together.  The little girl glanced at her mother and then peeked into each booth that she passed.  She kicked at the ground with her small, brown shoes, and she watched a car drive by.  She spun around again, ready to return to her mother when she noticed a man putting white paint against a red brick wall, covering something up that she guessed wasn’t supposed to be there.

She stood behind the man as he continued to coat the brick wall in white, and she listened to him mutter under his breath.  She smiled as he moved away to get more paint, and she glanced at the fresh white in front of her.  She quickly placed her hand in the paint and then hurried away.

She returned to her mother, who was paying for a bag of fruits, fruits that she wanted no part of.  Her mother glanced down at her and smiled, and she returned her mother’s smile.  But her mother’s smile disappeared as she noticed the white paint on the little girl’s hand.

“What is that?  What do you have on your hand?”  Her mother grabbed her by the arm, forcing the little girl to show her.  “Is that paint?”  Her mother looked around and noticed the man that was painting the red brick wall was now talking to a law enforcement agent.  “Come on.  We’re leaving.  Now.”

The little girl was dragged away by her mother, but then she heard someone say, “Stop.  Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

Her mother stopped in her tracks, glaring down at the little girl.

The law enforcement agent approached them, his hand on his holster.

“Would you really shoot me?”  The little girl asked.

The law enforcement agent grabbed her hand and looked at the white paint.  “You know the law.”  He glared at her mother, still holding on to the little girl.  “Hands.  Handprints are illegal.  We are entrusted to his hands and his hands only.”

“I know that, sir, but I didn’t know what she was doing.”

“Because you weren’t watching her,” an older woman said from nearby.

“You know the law,” the law enforcement agent said.  “She’s a minor, and you’re her parent.”  A white box appeared in his hands.  “She used which hand?”  He glanced at the little girl’s hand.  “Left.  Your left hand.”

“Can we talk about this?”

The little girl flinched at her mother’s voice; how bad it was shaking.

“She’s just a child.”

The law enforcement agent grabbed her mother, forcing her left hand into the white box.

The little girl watched the bag of fruits fall to the ground, apples and oranges spilling out everywhere.

Her mother screamed as the white box turned orange.

The law enforcement agent released her hand and moved away.  “Next time, watch your kid.”  He glanced at the man near the red brick wall with a white paintbrush in his hand.  “Cover that up.”  He stormed away.

The little girl knelt down and picked up the fruits, placing them back in the bag.  She glanced over at the small handprint pressed into the white paint on the red brick wall and shook her head.  It was a stupid thing for her to do.  She flinched as her mother hung her hand in front of her face, forcing her to touch the dead flesh that was left on her mother’s hand.

.

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

Melissa R. Mendelson is the author of the Sci-Fi Novella, Waken.  She also has a prose poetry collection called, This Will Remain With Us published by Wild Ink Publishing.  Her short story collections, Better Off Here and Name’s Keeper can be found on Amazon/Amazon Kindle.

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 Wynelda Ann Deaver @darc_nina #LoH

Posted on May 20, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Deadly Grotto
by Wynelda Ann Deaver

Come they told me in the darkest night,

Come and find the fortress beyond sight,

Where the golden glow

Warms the vampire’s skin,

Where demons wait idly by,

Waiting to consume a sin,

An underground grotto, perfect

For a siren’s call.

.

So, I’ll sing to the sinners

I’ll sing to the saints

And we, the beloved of night,

Shall feast.

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More about Wynelda Ann Deaver:

Wynelda Ann Deaver writes in the world of dark and twisty fantasy. She is in her own words a ‘girly girl’ who loves scrapbooking. Wynelda is extremely family oriented – her father is her best friend, and her son is the light of her life. If you’d like to read more about Wynelda, please visit her online at Wynword’s Weblog.

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

Posted on May 20, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Their Turn 
by Lee Mitchell  

“Always alternate the eucalyptus and sandalwood.” Joselyn demonstrated as she instructed their most recent addition. “It burns more evenly, and it doesn’t get too hot that way.”

Alex nodded. The scent of burning wood wasn’t quite as intoxicating as it had been before his emergence, but it still brought the young man some joy. He studied the clay pots that remained lined up along the constant glow of embers. “I was in one of those?”

“We all were, once.” Joselyn tended to the next fire, poking the cinders and piling on fresh pieces of wood.

“But they’re all so small.”

“These are the new arrivals. We keep them warm, speak kind words to them, help them grow, and then they move on to one of the larger pots in another room.”

“I don’t understand how we got here. And why do we start out like this?” Alex gestured again to the line of small, covered pots.

Joselyn stood and clapped the sawdust and soot from her hands. “Someone had to’ve explained to you back when you were still regenerating. You really don’t know?”

Alex shook his head.

A bittersweet smile crept along the corners of the young woman’s mouth. “We’re the souls who spent our lives being taken for granted. The scapegoats. The black sheep. The beautiful yet invisible.”

“Okay…”

Joselyn found a nearby broom and got to work on the soot and ash that had accumulated along the service path. “Never truly being seen eventually takes its toll on a person. It reduces us to nearly nothing, taking us nearly to the brink of nonexistence. Each of these pots holds the spark of a soul. It’s our job to help those sparks become more once again.”

“By cooking them over fires and talking to them? And then what? This isn’t my idea of finally finding peace.”

“I’ve seen others move on from this job. Each of them had a look of delight and satisfaction on their face as they burst into explosions of light and then drifted off in all directions. Like diamonds shimmering in the sky. So beautiful.”

Alex frowned. “That sounds awful.”

Joselyn grinned back. “You’ll be ready when it’s your turn. For now, you can pick a pot and start talking.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“If you don’t work, you’ll be stuck here forever.”

“And my alternative is to explode into a billion bits and fly away in the wind?”

“You make it sound like something violent and unpleasant,” said Joselyn. “It’s how we move on.”

“To where?”

The young woman shook her head. “Somewhere better.”

Alex’s voice rose to match his frustration. “How do you know that?”

Joselyn opened her mouth to speak, paused for a moment, and then turned to the recent arrival with uncertain eyes. “My keeper told me.”

“And who told them?”

“I… don’t know. But it has to be good.” Joselyn’s smile faded. She looked up at the sky, eyes now uncertain. “Doesn’t it?”

.

Fiction © Copyright Lee Mitchell.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Lee Mitchell:

LeeMitchell_TheDivineDarknessAlisha 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 Angela Yuriko Smith @AngelaYSmith @darc_nina #LoH

Posted on May 3, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Wind in the Branches
by Angela Yuriko Smith

Listen, in this wind you can hear the sound of a thousand mothers keening, every soldier falling was somebody’ son—someone’s daughter. A thousand children crying alone, a thousand weeping angels, a thousand howling dogs… a thousand, a thousand, a thousand and then the numbers no longer matter. They become multitudes, too numerous to count—statistical throngs. When the bodies pile up this high their edges become soft, their unique lives blend into a single mass and they become legions of loss. Listen, the cries are so loud they echo straight from the past and into our future. If you peer into the next moment you can see us there, broken, on our knees, our cries adding to the wailing winds. Babies destined to end up decaying in foreign lands, their bodies fling from womb to war in a flash, their mothers stretch their empty arms across the sea, tears salting the waters…

…and here am I. My arms are still full. Selfishly, I clutch the lives I ward close. I can see the future where my own voice joins the medley of weeping. I see the approaching pain rolling in like a storm on the horizon, a tsunami cry building up across centuries. They come as a colossal wave to wash us all away. When the horror hits I will try to stand still and stoic and tell myself that because I saw it coming I should not flinch…but I will flinch. My knees will buckle, my keening wails will feed the wind. I too will tear my hair, rend my clothes and cast dust into my eyes in sorrow. I can hear my grandmother’s grandmother’s voice, cast high, speaking words I can’t understand, yet the meaning is clear. It’s an immigrant’s goodbye to home, to the land that birthed her, a plea for a new land to show mercy. Like my grandmothers, I too turn my back on where I was and hope where I go will be kinder. 

Will the wind ever

Be free to carry laughter?

Must we always weep?

.

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

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

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sue Renol @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 2, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Cosmic Impact
by Sue Renol

A quiet walk along my usual trail always soothes aggravation from the day. Dusk is my preferred time, just after the sun sets and the sky is midnight blue. The stars begin to twinkle and the moon hangs above like a familiar friend. I like the alone time. As much as I love my husband, space is always nice.

I hum a tune while taking my time. The cool evening air feels wonderful on my skin. I let it caress me as I soak in its comforting embrace.

Then, darkness fades, and the light of the moon brightens. It blasts an unnatural glow, illuminating the world below as if it were day. The blinding light is accompanied by a thundering boom. It’s followed by a great rumble and a splitting crack which pierces my ears.

The sky echoes in repercussions as the moon splits in two. Its halves slowly increase the gap between themselves, leaving a grainy cluster of smaller pieces to fill the space.

I watch in horror as the most beautiful meteor shower I’ve ever seen spreads across the horizon. It is soon followed by the terror of what tore through the moon. Long, pointed, unnaturally shaped, as if it were meant to strike.

I take one last breath before closing my eyes and wait for the impact.

.

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

Posted on May 2, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

All That’s Left 
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

The night it happened, we had no warning. A flash of brilliance in the sky—and the screaming began. I hid behind a bush and watched the panic. Men, women—even children—running helter-skelter about the place, like chickens with their heads cut off. But it didn’t matter. The ships…the ships blasted people with the precision of the laser pointers we used to point for cats. They burst into clouds of bloody mist. Even their clothing disintegrated. Nothing remained.

I cowered deeper into the foliage, heart thundering in my chest. What was happening? Was it localized? Would they find me? I watched in horror until my exhausted soul could bear no more, and I slept.

Fate was kind for once. Or was it?

When I awoke, cold and alone under my bush, I searched the skies, but no sign of the ships could be seen. Had they come and gone? I had no way of knowing.

Venturing out of the shelter, I looked for someone—anyone—else who might have survived the night.

All I found was a pair of broken spectacles upon the ground.

Is that an noi—

.

Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose

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

Overheard in Hell:
Dark Poetry

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

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

Available on Amazon!

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

Posted on May 1, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Alone in the Parking Lot
by Sheri White 

Cara waved goodbye to her coworkers and headed to the parking lot. She served a lot of tables and wanted to get home, but the tips were worth the long evening.

A cool fine mist felt great on her sweaty sticky skin. She turned her face up to the sky for relief while she fumbled in her purse for her key fob. Cara pushed the button and heard the beep as the taillights flashed. She had parked under the light for safety, as she always did.

She started to walk to her car but stopped when she realized someone was sitting in the passenger seat.

Cara pretended to look for something in her purse while surreptitiously watching the person for any movement. Whoever was in her car stayed completely still. Unnerved, Cara grabbed her phone to call 9-1-1 as she turned around to go back to the restaurant.

She could see the restaurant was closed out now; lights turned off and no coworkers’ cars in the front parking lot.

She was alone.

The slamming of a car door startled Cara into dropping her phone. She bent down to retrieve it, slightly turning her head to look at her car. Now the person was standing beside the door, but the fog made it difficult to see whether or not the person was facing her since they were dressed all in black.

Then two red eyes appeared, and Cara realized that whatever it was had been facing her the whole time. She slowly stood up with her phone, trying to dial for help, when it suddenly bent over, putting its hands flat on the pavement, its rear up in the air. It lifted its head, focusing red eyes on Cara.

They stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity, then the creature ran on all fours at Cara, its hands slapping the blacktop with loud smacks. It opened its mouth, showing sharp, jagged teeth and emitted a horrific inhuman cry that chilled Cara to her soul. Cara screamed and ran to the right, but the creature easily caught up to her. It barreled into her, knocking her down onto her back.

The creature put its head close to Cara’s and blew dank, foul breath into her face. She choked back vomit, then began coughing. The creature pulled back and looked at her curiously. Cara took advantage of the moment and tightly gripped the small can of bear spray she always kept attached to her key fob.

She sprayed it into the thing’s face; its ungodly howls drowning out the hissing from the nozzle. It stood up and covered its eyes, giving Cara a chance to get away. She scrambled to her feet and ran to her car, grateful she had already unlocked it earlier.

Cara got into the driver’s seat and shut the door, then hit the button to lock every door. Movement caught her eye—the creature had recovered and was now on all fours again, heading for the car. She pushed the START button, put the car in drive, then pushed the gas pedal so hard the tires squealed for mercy.

Cara looked in her sideview mirror before she turned out of the parking lot. The creature had fallen behind. She breathed a sigh of relief and slowed the car down before she got on the freeway.

She heard a rustling in the back seat and turned to check. The inhuman howling she had heard before filled the car, but this time it was a chorus. On the floor was a litter of small creatures. With no arms yet, they began to slither toward her, clicking their tiny but sharp teeth together.

Cara lost control of the car, swerving it into a ditch.

Her mind mercifully checked out before they were upon her.

.

Fiction © Copyright Sheri White
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Sheri White:

sw`Don’t Turn Out the Lights: A Tribute to Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Featuring stories from R.L. Stine and Madeleine Roux, this middle grade horror anthology, curated by New York Times bestselling author and master of macabre Jonathan Maberry, is a chilling tribute to Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark.

Flesh-hungry ogres? Brains full of spiders? Haunted houses you can’t escape? This collection of 35 terrifying stories from the Horror Writers Association has it all, including ghastly illustrations from Iris Compiet that will absolutely chill readers to the bone.

So turn off your lamps, click on your flashlights, and prepare—if you dare—to be utterly spooked!

The complete list of writers: Linda D. Addison, Courtney Alameda, Jonathan Auxier, Gary A. Braunbeck, Z Brewer, Aric Cushing, John Dixon, Tananarive Due, Jamie Ford, Kami Garcia, Christopher Golden, Tonya Hurley, Catherine Jordan, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Alethea Kontis, N.R. Lambert, Laurent Linn, Amy Lukavics, Barry Lyga, D.J. MacHale, Josh Malerman, James A. Moore, Michael Northrop, Micol Ostow, Joanna Parypinksi, Brendan Reichs, Madeleine Roux, R.L. Stine, Margaret Stohl, Gaby Triana, Luis Alberto Urrea, Rosario Urrea, Kim Ventrella, Sheri White, T.J. Wooldridge, Brenna Yovanoff

Available on Amazon!

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

Posted on May 1, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Porcelain Teeth 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

   The K-9, a black German Shepherd named Ranger, pulled hard on the leash. Deputy Morales struggled to keep pace in the thick underbrush. They went further into the deep forest.

“Easy boy,” she muttered, wiping sweat and dirt from her brow.

They were two days into the search for Eli Harris, age nine. He was last seen playing in his backyard near the treeline. No footprints. No signs of a struggle. Just his toy fire truck left at the edge of the treeline and a mother screaming herself hoarse.

Ranger growled low and pulled even harder.

That’s when they found it.

Tucked between trees like a cancerous growth, the small white playhouse stood in a forgotten clearing. Its paint was warped and blistered, windows blackened like sockets. The roof sagged, rust eating holes through thin metal.

“What the hell…” Morales whispered.

Ranger snarled then darted through the child-sized doorway.

“Ranger!”

She followed.

Inside, the smell hit her instantly. A cloying, rancid sweetness that clung to the air like wet velvet. She lifted her flashlight, the beam trembling and she gasped. Four bodies, or what was left of them. Four children.

They sat in a row against the far wall, little hands in their laps, legs straight. Heads were titled just slightly, like broken marionettes. Their skin had been carefully peeled off and stretched over small, wooden forms. Porcelain teeth were glued into smiling maws. Button eyes. Yarn braided with human hair was crudely stitched to waxy scalps. One had a bonnet. Another held a delicate tea cup in its tiny hands.

Morales swallowed her own bile. Her hand went to her radio. “I need immediate backup, coordinates to follow on your phones. Ranger found four.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Ranger found four DOA…four kids…Jesus Christ.”

Ranger barked sharply. He was pawing at something. It was a trapdoor, half rotted and buried in the floorboards. Morales opened it. A draft of cold, stagnant air breathed up from the darkness. Wooden ladder, stone walls and something below shifted.

She drew her weapon. “Ranger. Stay.” He whined but obeyed

She slowly descended.

At the bottom, the beam of her flashlight caught bones – piles of them. Toys. Teeth. Bits of torn fabric. In the corner of the room there was a child limp in the arms of something not quite human.

The boy’s mouth had been sewn shut, eyes glassy and wide in death. His limbs had been jointed with wire. His tiny hand clutched a plastic army man that had been melted to his palm.

Cradling him was something that might have once been a man. Its skin was slick and grayish, stretched too taut over a hunch backed frame. Its arms were too long, fingers like sticks of charcoal. Its head tilted up at the sudden movement, its eyes black. It hissed at Morales, she froze.

The creature dropped the child and darted back into a jagged tunnel at the far end. It vanished into the darkness with an animal shriek. Footsteps thundered above, she could hear muffled voices. She climbed back up, pale and shaking as detectives Grant and Nunez stormed in, their guns drawn. Ranger barked once, then licked her hand.

“There’s a chamber beneath us,” she said, her voice hollow. “The last boy, Eli, is down there. He’s gone. There was something else with him.”

Grant raised an eyebrow. “What kind of something?” She didn’t answer. She just looked down  into the darkness, cold wind whistled up like the ground was breathing.

“Bright lights,” she finally said. “Body bags. Lots of body bags. We need forensics.”

Then she descended again, not alone this time. Above the trapdoor slowly creeped closed behind them.

.

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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