Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Juliet Amequohi @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #poetry #poem

Posted on March 30, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Depth of Fire
by Juliet Amequohi

Time and space fall apart
For misty fingers coated in dusk
Among screeching gulls and pounding surf
In this place of forgotten magic.
Before the sun goes down
You can see them in the winter months—
There are always shadows
Where nothing and no one stands.
They fly like the clouds,
But the shadows remain
Even when horizon to horizon
Holds only endless, unmarked blue.
The darkness is bold;
They do not seek to hide
In cold winds of stormy skies
Or among the rocky tide pools of this place of lost time.
Their shadows sound the dark waves,
And shake the very earth.
The deep waters beckon,
Teasing with their secrets.
One day I will swim far and deep
To see what they have hidden.
And when I reach the sandy bottom,
I will grasp the sky with their talons.
Fiction © Copyright Juliet Amequohi
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela

line_separator2

line_separator2

Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Scarlett R. Algee @ScarlettRAlgee @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 29, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

A Kiss of Flesh
by Scarlett R. Algee

The cold iron handle of the mausoleum’s door shifts at my touch, unlocked, and I pause. Doubt gnaws at my gut as the package inside my coat shifts, and for the thousandth time I wonder what I’m doing. My hands bear fresh calluses and blisters from the spade, garden soil clinging to the whorls of my skin.
My fingers cramp as I open the door. A sprinkle of rust flakes shower down on me, but the squeak of the hinges is a whisper. Inside, all of the unused niches in the marble are filled with her little flickering lamps, their smoke twining up through the gratework in the ceiling. Inside, on the solitary slab, she sits cross-legged in a ragged white dress; her bare feet are long, graceful, the nails painted with a dark gloss. Her hands lie in her lap, palms down; but unlike their nether counterparts, her fingernails are torn short and caked with dirt.
Her eyes are closed, her breathing even. Waiting for me, I think at first, before I realize: asleep.
A leaf, brown and crumbling, rests in the black mass of her hair. I pluck it out. She opens her eyes.
“Claude.” Her voice is dry reeds and disuse, but she smiles.
“Delphine.” A grin comes to my own lips before I remember the bundle in my coat, wrapped in oilcloth so it won’t leak. Ghoul, monster, woman: she’s more beautiful than the last time I saw her; more beautiful than the first time, when my spade broke the surface of a grave and she looked up at me with a rib in her jaws. Infinitely more so than the woman I’m forced to call my wife. “I brought you something.”
Delphine slides to her feet, fits herself into my arms like a missing piece of me, kisses me with the sweet foulness of her mouth. When she pulls back, the light glistens on the long sharp facets of her canines. “Show me.”
The oilcloth crinkles as I retrieve it, as I put it in her hands to open, to release the perfume of decay. She studies the small contents, the plump but blackening flesh; she spreads the tiny limbs wide, and her mouth creases in uncertainty. “You would bring this to me?”
I swallow, dry-mouthed. Never before has she refused one of my putrefying gifts, although never before has one been quite so personal. Still, I hope, I’ve known her too long, too well, for her to hate me. “Yes.”
“Claude.” She lifts her yellow eyes from the lifeless babe to my face, questioning. “This is your son?”
“He lived an hour, Delphine. It’s been five days.” When had her voice dropped to a whisper? When had mine? I cup her cheek in my hand, smearing earth across her skin. “I can’t give him a better resting place.”
“You honor me too much,” she murmurs, and her grip on my dead child’s body has become tender, maternal. She should have been a mother; she should have been a mother to this boy. He would have lived. “Will you stay?”
Tomorrow, in my garden, I’ll rebury a little bundle of bones. Tonight, my place is here. “Yes.”
Delphine cradles the infant to her breast with one hand, wraps the fingers of the other around my wrist. She digs in. “And when there are other sons?”
I lean in first, so that our foreheads touch; then I pull away to look her in the eyes. I’m going to Hell for this, and she’s worth every step. “Then perhaps there will be other gifts.”
Her eyes soften, along with the line of her mouth. She lets me go. “Shut the door.”
I do as she says. And I hear it while I’m turned away, the tearing-silk sound of her teeth sliding into flesh, and I smile.
Fiction © Copyright Scarlett R. Algee
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela

line_separator2

More from author Scarlett R. Algee:

The Lift: Nine Stories of Transformation, Volume One

The hall is dark and the overhead light flickers. Sounds echo, and there’s a creaking and clanging that gets louder as you stand in the semi-dark. The elevator opens and you’re offered a ride. Step inside and ride it to the story chosen for your transformation. Don’t be afraid, for Victoria, the mysterious girl who operates The Lift, waits to guide you. Set in the same world as the award nominated audio drama, The Lift’s first written anthology features nine all new stories by fan favorite writers and special bonus content by creators Daniel Foytik and Cynthia Lowman. The collection is brought to life with beautiful illustrations by Jeanette Andromeda for each story.

Available on Amazon!

line_separator2

Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

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

Posted on March 29, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Absinthe Minded
by Angela Yuriko Smith

She pulled the bottle off a high shelf and wiped the dust off with her sleeve.The dark brown glass didn’t look like any liquor bottle he’d ever seen. The label was written in a foreign language.
“That doesn’t look like booze,” he said. “It looks like medicine.”
She set the bottle down on the orange crate table between them and sat. Two shot glasses were waiting, one with a hairline crack that didn’t yet leak and the other chipped at the rim. She unscrewed the lid and poured.
“That’s because it’s not just booze,” she said. “It’s absinthe. It’s better than just booze. It’s like medicine for creativity. It opens doors in your mind.” She finished pouring, screwed the lid back on and raised the glass with the hairline crack. “All the great artists in Paris drink it.”
He was already an artist, but his father had destroyed all his paintings when he’d failed his exams. He had run away. He refused to live under a roof where he wasn’t allowed to be who he was. Now he would become a great artist and prove to them all how wrong they were. He picked up his glass and tossed it back in one gulp. It was bitter. She set her glass back down.
“Ugh, you didn’t tell me it tastes like poison,” he said. He spit into the dirt to rid himself of the taste. She unscrewed the cap and carefully poured her shot back into the bottle. “Aren’t you having yours?” he asked. She shook her head.
“This is for you. It will open a door in your mind.”
The aftertaste was terrible—a mix of garlic and steel. He spit again. The booze was beginning to affect him, but only to make him drowsy. The bitter taste lingered on his tongue causing his mouth to flood with saliva. He swallowed it and felt ill.
“I don’t feel creative, I feel sick.” He said. “I’m not so sure it’s working.” His eyes glazed over and he blinked, trying to keep them open. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. His head drooped.
“Oh, it’s not for your creativity. It’s for mine. You just get the door opened.” He slipped off the stool and fell halfway in the dirt, leaning on the crate table for support. He swallowed convulsively, tried to spit again but the saliva just ran down his chin to dangle as a stickly pendulum. There were miniscule ribbons of red twisting through it.
“What… door?” He slipped off the crate and lay on the ground, clenching his middle. He ground his teeth. She stood up and pulled the old shower curtain door closed so they had privacy. She opened up the orange crate and pulled out an old typewriter already loaded with a fresh piece of paper.
“For you, the exit door,” she said. “Now, tell me… what do you see?”
Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela

line_separator2

More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

The Bitter Suites

Book a stay at the Bitter Suites, a hotel that specializes in renewable death experiences. Whether you schedule your demise as therapy, to bond with a loved one or for pure recreation, your death is sure to give you a new lease on life. Renewable death is always beneficial… at least to someone.

Available on Amazon!

 

line_separator2

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

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

Posted on March 28, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

As Summer Ends
by Terrie Leigh Relf

Yet another spring passed, and the de la Madrid estate still had a “For Sale” sign posted on the outer gates at the bottom of the hill. Even though there was also a “No Trespassing” sign alongside it, that didn’t stop the occasional teen on a dare, or curious local from town, looking for an access point. All you had to do was walk through the copse of orange trees, their fruit rotting on the ground, to locate the back garden entrance. The lock there had been jimmied so often that it barely held together.
Even though the house itself had been condemned, it had been designated as a site of historic interest. It wasn’t so much the property itself as it was the mystery surrounding it. Although truth be told, it was a magnificent specimen of Spanish colonial architecture, albeit in a state of ongoing decline, as if it, too, was grief stricken at the loss of its family. There hadn’t been a de la Madrid living there for nearly fifty years, or so the locals believed.
One might suppose that any abandoned estate would come to be the stuff of local lore, even if its multi-generational inhabitants hadn’t all died the same night from what the coroner referred to as “unknown causes.” It was determined that there hadn’t been any gas leaks of any kind. Nor were there any other signs of foul play discovered.
The word about town was that whomever chose to purchase the estate would do so under the condition that it would be restored. It wasn’t clear, however, which realty office was actually handling the property, for whom, or what its fair market value would be. Then there were what would prove to be the exorbitant restoration costs. You’d think that at least a few of the local realtors would be be more forthcoming. That said, perhaps they didn’t want to identify themselves given the potential for a very substantial commission. It was probably one of those word-of-mouth situations among the wealthy.
On occasion, however, you would see a car drive up to the locked gate, and a person who may or may not have been a realtor, would step out of the car, unlock the gate, and drive up the small stretch of cobbled road that led to the main house. Sometimes, they’d be in there for a few hours; other times, it seemed like days before they would emerge again to drive back down the road to town.
Mysterious? Perhaps. Then again, the town and its residents were quite well known in certain quarters for being more than a bit odd. What was odder still was the lack of local gossip or the slightest bit of interest once the de la Madrid estate finally sold toward summer’s end.
The O’Rourke’s were a 30-something couple from the Bay Area that had apparently made a modest fortune within the tech industry. Before taking their early retirement, they had fantasized about the proverbial “getting away from it all” in a rural area of California. The de la Madrid estate was the perfect retirement project for them. While renovating, they lived in an unsightly mobile home parked just beyond the orange grove. The stench alone likely kept them awake at night. But it wasn’t just the oranges in various stages of decay, but what was buried beneath them. Or perhaps it was what wasn’t buried there yet, but would be soon. For you see, the earth itself is aware of what has transpired as well as what is to come.
And yes, once the renovations were underway, it was quite some time before the O’Rourke’s came to realize that the estate was already inhabited, more or less. For deep beneath the mansion’s foundation, and deeper still, was a series of caves that led to a cavern. Hot mineral springs and a subterranean river maintained its wonderfully fetid environment, where blind albino fish swam and eels slithered among the other creatures living there. Creatures from another time, another place, each one slightly more monstrous than the next. Or perhaps we were from another dimension, the cavern our portal to your world.
You’re probably wondering if the de la Madrid’s met their untimely demise by our tentacled hands, and if the O’Rourke’s would follow in their wake. So much depends, you see, on our ancient whims coming to the fore . . . and if they can sate our vast hungers by other means. Nevertheless, we are patient, and the estate has been empty of human inhabitants for far too long. Meanwhile, we feast on their hopes and fears, their petty squabbles, observe their vain attempts to fill the estate with children’s laughter. Perhaps as summer ends, we may venture forth to welcome them into our brood.
Fiction © Copyright Terrie Leigh Relf
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela

line_separator2

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!

line_separator2

Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Stacey Turner @Spot_Speaks @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 28, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Sanctuary
by Stacey Turner

The cawing of the gulls was raucous. Petra wrinkled her nose in disgust. The birds were dirty, noisy, and repulsive. Much like the people she’d met so far in this upstart country. She realized the nation had been around for well over two centuries and had been called a Superpower. She snorted. What was a mere two centuries? Nothing but a blink of the eye in an eternal lifetime. And it showed. The people had no sense of history, little culture, and less class. She sighed. How she missed the drawing rooms of London in Queen Victoria’s time. Those were a fabulous couple of decades.
Yet, here she stood. She picked her way carefully over the filthy beach, shooting the flock one last scathing glance. A single bird keeled over, and she smiled. Looks really could kill if you knew what you were doing. Her gaze roved farther over the beach and she wrinkled her nose. Hopefully, she’d not have to wait long for her contact to arrive. She’d have to learn to live on this graceless continent. Petra had grown tired of running. Marcelle had proven relentless in his pursuit. No matter how many bodies she jumped, or continents she crossed, inevitably he divined her location. The chase wearied her. She used her bodies up faster as the anxiety grew in her soul.
But salvation lay here in America, or so she’d been told. A town, founded by an ancient vampire, which sheltered supernatural beings. A place hidden from the view of humans, where those of paranormal origin could claim sanctuary—Pine Haven, North Carolina. A man strolled down the beach, a large dog, no—she squinted—a wolf at his side. She walked in his direction, drinking in his features as she drew close. He was beyond handsome, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, let such details distract her. Her continued survival depended on guarding her secrets well. And as she’d learned from experience—devils often hid behind an angel’s face.
Fiction © Copyright Stacey Turner
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela

line_separator2

More from author Stacey Turner:

Morbid Metamorphosis: Terrifying Tales of Transformation

Metamorphosis occurs every day as caterpillars become sweet fluttering butterflies, tadpoles become gorgeous frog princes and chameleons become one with the beauty of nature – but you won’t find any of that here.

The transformations you’re about to witness are unnatural, sometimes gruesome and deeply psychological. They will make you question reality and take your mind places it was never meant to go.

Terrifying Tales of Transformation from Greg Chapman * Roy C. Booth & R. Thomas Riley * Terri DelCampo * Dave Gammon * Nancy Kilpatrick * Rod Marsden * Jo-Anne Russell * M.J. Preston * Stacey Turner * Tina Piney * Suzanne Robb * Franklin E. Wales * Donna Marie West * Suzie Lockhart * Cameron Trost * Daniel I. Russell * Simon Dewar * Amanda J. Spedding * Ken MacGregor * Erin Shaw * Gregory L. Norris * Nickolas Furr

Available on Amazon!

line_separator2

Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Leah McNaughton Lederman @leahbewriting @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 27, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

If push Came to Shove
by Leah McNaughton Lederman

She was pretty sure she’d gotten all the crevices. A piece this intricate, it was like it slurped in the blood, absorbed it. So many small, tight grooves.
And then there were the fibers. She couldn’t think about that.
They’d know it was foul play. It was obvious. She’d bleached the hell out of it, conservation be damned.
No one could know.
It was just an accident, after all. A misunderstanding.
He shouldn’t have been talking like that. He made her do it.
It didn’t take much, either.
Just a shove.
A perfect landing, the iron doorhandle to the temple. Eight centuries of history in that room and half of it stained with blood in a second’s time. A breath. A blink.
She’d do it again, if she had to.
Fiction © Copyright Leah McNaughton Lederman
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela
Image courtesy of Pixabay 

line_separator2

More about Leah McNaughton Lederman:

Leah McNaughton Lederman is a freelance writer and editor from the Indianapolis area, where she lives with her husband, their two sons, two cats, and puppy. Since obtaining her Master’s degree in English Literature from the University of Toledo in 2009, she’s busied herself with writing, editing, parenting, and teaching (though not always in that order). She started her own parenting column in The Toledo Free Press, and has had her short stories published by Bloodlotus Online Literary Journal, The Indianapolis indie magazine Snacks, and in Scout Media’s anthology A Matter of Words. Her most recent work will be released by Indie Authors’ Press in Issues of Tomorrow. Several other pieces are awaiting rejection. As an editor, she’s worked on dozens of indie comic scripts and has been featured on the comics news sites “Creator Owned Expo,” “The Outhousers,” and the podcast “Comics Pros and Cons.” In addition to her work in comics with writers like Dirk Manning, Howie Noel, Bob Salley, and Kasey Pierce, Leah has edited short story collections, children’s books, dissertations, and several novels.

line_separator2

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Melissa R. Mendelson @melissmendelson @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 27, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

In My Blood
by Melissa R. Mendelson

The stairs leading down to the basement creaked, but she already knew that I was coming for her.  The darkness did not bother her, but the gleam of the knife did.  How many have I killed?  Would she be the last, and the chains shackled around her wrists and ankles echoed against the concrete floor.  She was waiting for me, and she sat patiently, watching my every step, eyeing the knife readied in my hand.
“Are we still playing this game,” I asked, and she smiled through her tears.  “How many more do I have to kill?”
“If you’re tired of the murders, then let me go,” she said.  “Just take my hand, and it’ll be over.”
“I escaped you once.  Does that really bother me?”
“Many escape me,” she said.  “But they go on to live their lives.  They don’t sell their blood as poison to take the lives of others.”
“I’m doing you a favor,” I said.  “I’m delivering you those that deserve not to live.”
“You’ve put a few innocents on that list, so what’s one more?”  She slowly stood up and wiped her tears away.  She was only five-years-old, but she was ready to die.  “This one could have a long life, if allowed to live.”
“You’re making me do this,” I said.
“No, you choose to do this, and I would have left you alone, if you stopped taking lives before their time.  Men do bad things.  Men will always do bad things, but you cannot decide their fate.”
“Then, maybe when I came back, you should not have given me such a gift in my blood,” I said.
“That was a mistake.”
“So, we play this game?”
“We play this game.”
“Until when,” I asked.
“Until you’re done.”
I knew that I was far from done, but for me to continue, I would have to play this game.  I would have to end her life.  I read about this child and how it was a miracle that she survived what she did, and I did not want to be the one to end her life.  But this world had too many villains, and only I could stop them.  But I wouldn’t toss her body aside like all the others.  I would bury her as softly as the knife that I now pushed into her body.
Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

line_separator2


More from Melissa R. Mendelson:

Better Off Here 

We always look to the greener pastures, thinking our lives would be so much better over there, but if we were over there, what if all we wanted was to go back? Instead, we found ourselves trapped with the darker side to our fears.

Available Here!

 

line_separator2

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

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

Posted on March 26, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Abandon All Hope
by Rie Sheridan Rose

Lewis narrowed his eyes in frustration. It was late, and he’d been driving all day, and—now that he had reached his destination, and all he wanted to do was sleep—there was a locked gate in front of him.
“Great,” he growled under his breath. He rattled the heavy iron bars, topped with intricate scrollwork that had seen better days. The chains woven through them were rusty, but held fast.
He felt like screaming. It’d been weird enough getting the letter from the law office requiring his presence in this nowhere town tomorrow for the reading of a will from some relative he’d never even heard of—but now the promised rest at the end of the road was locked away out of reach. Only the fact that he needed to lay low for a couple of weeks had convinced him to come. Things were a little hot at home right now.
Maybe he had some bolt-cutters in the trunk. They came in handy sometimes in his line of work…
Standing at the rear of the car, with the headlights illuminating the gate from a bit further off, he noticed that the scrollwork almost looked like words. Probably the name of the estate or something. People used to do stupid things like name their houses.
He squinted. Some of the letters looked broken. He couldn’t make out what it was supposed to say.
Shrugging, he found the bolt-cutters and snapped off the chain. Tossing it out of the way, he opened the gate and got back behind the wheel.
His brain continued to worry the problem of the broken letters as he drove slowly through the gate. As he cleared the opening, the gate slammed shut behind him, the chain winding itself into place.
“What the–?”
As the very air around him burst into flames, he puzzled out the scrollwork at last—HELL’S GATE. He guessed he really shouldn’t be surprised.
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

line_separator2

More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

Skellyman

“I have always preferred the supernatural in tales of horror, the knot between life and death. Rie Sheridan Rose’s Skellyman is cool and creepy. Her first horror novel is a chilling read.” — Charlee Jacob – Stoker winner, Best novel, “Dread in the Beast”

Brenda Barnett is trying to cope with raising her four-year-old daughter all alone after an accident tore her family in half. As she and Daisy go for a much-needed treat, the little girl spots a Skellyman on the corner.

This pivotal encounter leads to a wave of mounting terror as Brenda’s life begins to come undone around her. Who is the Skellyman? Why does he keep appearing? Can the sympathetic policeman Brenda turns to stop the madness before it is too late?

And why does Daisy insist that her dead brother is trying to tell them something important?

Available on Amazon!

line_separator2

Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Christina Sng @ChristinaSng @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 26, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Art of the Feed
by Christina Sng

Just after dusk, I sit by the waterfront, feeding the seagulls as I always do. They wait eagerly for me, grabbing torn chunks of food from my hand, bobbing their heads up and down in appreciation.
Today, it is that man from apartment 11B. I caught him on his way to work, luring him into an alley without cameras. An easy feat, since his fists were aching for a hit after his battered wife took the children and left for parts unknown the night before.
After they are fattened and full, the seagulls take to the darkening sky, soaring effortlessly into the clouds. I join them, my thick leathery wings shrouding the setting sun as I fly, searching for our next meal.
Fiction © Copyright Christina Sng
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

line_separator2

More from Christina Sng:

A Collection of Nightmares

Hold your screams and enter a world of seasonal creatures, dreams of bones, and confessions modeled from open eyes and endless insomnia. Christina Sng’s A Collection of Nightmares is a poetic feast of sleeplessness and shadows, an exquisite exhibition of fear and things better left unsaid. Here are ramblings at the end of the world and a path that leads to a thousand paper cuts at the hands of a skin carver. There are crawlspace whispers, and fresh sheets gently washed with sacrifice and poison, and if you’re careful in this ghost month, these poems will call upon the succubus to tend to your flesh wounds and scars.
These nightmares are sweeping fantasies that electrocute the senses as much as they dull the ache of loneliness by showing you what’s hiding under your bed, in the back of your closet, and inside your head. Sng’s poems dissect and flower, her autopsies are delicate blooms dressed with blood and syntax. Her words are charcoal and cotton, safe yet dressed in an executioner’s garb.
Dream carefully.
You’ve already made your bed.
The nightmares you have now will not be kind.
And you have no one to blame but yourself.

Available on Amazon!

line_separator2

 

Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author K.R. Morrison @KRMorrison2 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 25, 2019 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Grass is Greener
K.R. Morrison

Trixie smiled to herself as Mrs. Evans led her by the hand into her house. The little girl turned at the last minute to wave good-bye to her mom, who was pulling out of the driveway. When her head was turned to look for traffic, Trixie took the opportunity to stick her tongue out at her little sister, Tina, who was fastened into the back seat.
Trixie chortled when she saw her sister’s mouth working. She knew Tina, or “Tiny Teeny”, as she called her, was shouting indignantly at their mom about what Trixie had done.
Trixie didn’t care. Tina was the one who had disrupted their lives four years ago, and she never let the little creep forget it. Whenever she had the opportunity, she would tease, push, pinch, or kick “Tiny Teeny” until the younger girl bawled for their mother. They both would get punished in the end (sometimes literally in their literal ends), but it was worth it to see a time when Tina was not being cooed or fussed over.
That had been Trixie’s place not so long ago.
But no matter. She was the big girl, and as such she was now able to stay with Mrs. Evans, who had moved in a block from their house and was starting a preschool.
After rigorously checking her credentials and background, Trixie’s mom had decided to give Mrs. Evans a try. She had wanted to return to yoga classes, but knew she could not stay yoga-centered when she had to referee her girls’ fights.
Mrs. Evans took Trixie into the kitchen, where she was making cookies. She sat Trixie on a stool with a coloring book.
“Later we can go to the park. Does that sound nice?”
Trixie nodded, and when the lady’s back was turned, stuck her tongue out at her also. Sitting still was not this girl’s means of entertainment.
After a few minutes of drawing headless animals in the coloring book and watching her caregiver bustle around the kitchen, Trixie had had enough.
“Can I go outside? Please?” she asked in her sweetest little-angel voice. “It’s such a lovely day.”
Mrs. Evans turned to look at her little charge, then out the window. After a moment of consideration, she said, “Oh, all right.”
“Yay!” Trixie leapt off the stool.
“One thing.”
Trixie stopped mid-stride and looked back at Mrs. Evans.
The woman pointed. “You see that gate?”
Trixie followed the finger, and saw a metal opening in the fence that surrounded the yard. “Uh-huh.”
“Do not touch that gate, or open it. That goes into the neighbors’ yard, and they’re…well, sort of odd.”
Trixie’s eyes flashed in excitement as she looked out the window. “Sure. I can do that.”
She ran out and, once she saw that she was not being watched, darted directly to the gate. She kept her promise though—she didn’t touch the thing. She merely peered through it.
“Well, it’s a whole lot nicer than here,” she murmured to herself.
While Mrs. Evans’ yard was interesting enough, it had no fun play things. This other yard had a swing set and a slide. Mrs. Evans had beach balls and a jump rope.
Big deal, orange peel…
***
As she contemplated the view into the other yard, Trixie suddenly heard a sound that made her look up. What she saw…well, she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Another little girl, about the same age, was staring down at her from a branch that hung over the fence. So Trixie stared right back. She was just about decided that she hated the stranger and all her toys, when the other girl spoke.
“Hi,” was all she said.
“Hi yerself,” Trixie answered back, her eyebrows curving down into her best patented pout.
“I’m Kelpie. Wanna play?”
Trixie’s frown was instantly put away for another time. She beamed up at Kelpie. “Sure!”
She glanced back at the house and saw that Mrs. Evans was still busy and not paying attention, so she returned her eyes to Kelpie. “But how? I can’t go into your yard, and Turkey Neck there won’t like it if you come in here.”
Kelpie giggled at Trixie’s name for her caregiver. “Just unlatch the gate and come through, silly.”
“Um…” Trixie stuck a finger in her mouth and looked back at the kitchen window. “She told me not to open the gate, and not to even touch it.”
Kelpie jumped down from her tree and came to her side of the gate. “Did she really?”
“Yep.”
There was a strange look in Kelpie’s eyes—one that an older, more experienced child would probably have shied away from. But Trixie was innocent in the matters of strange behavior.
“Did she say anything about if the gate was already open?”
“Well…” Trixie looked around Kelpie at the swing set. “No…”
Kelpie quickly reached her hand through and unlatched the gate. It swung inward on silent hinges.
Trixie took step back, then forward, undecided.
“Come on in,” the other little girl said. Trixie’s ears were confused, because now it sounded as if Kelpie had suddenly gotten a case of sore throat. It was all gravelly-like. Trixie didn’t want to catch the cold, but that slide…
Kelpie put her fists on her hips. “Okay, so the gate is opened. You didn’t touch it. Did she say anything about walking through if it was open?”
“Er…no…”
“Then come in!!” Kelpie laughed and ran to the swing set, where she sat in the seat. “Come and push me!”
With one last look toward the house, Trixie strode through the opening…
…and promptly disappeared, along with Kelpie, the tree, and all.
Just then a bellow came from the other side of the yard. Mrs. Evans, with a face like thunder and an axe in her hand, marched straight to where Trixie had disappeared–and vanished the same way.
For a full minute, all was silent except for the chirping of a few birds in Mrs. Evans’ yard. Then, with a huge PLOP, she was back through the gate, leading Trixie with one hand and carrying her bloodied weapon with the other.
“Damn that realtor!” the woman exclaimed. “I knew this place came too cheap.”
She stopped and knelt in front of Trixie, who seemed merely puzzled and not scared at all. What Mrs. Evans had seen in that portal was a world that no one should ever have to witness, yet this child looked to be untouched by what she had experienced.
“You okay, Trixie?”
The little girl nodded, and Mrs. Evans gave her a curious look.
Then she got up and started toward the house again, discarding the ax as she did so. “Come on, kiddo. Those cookies should be done by now.”
Unbeknownst to her, Trixie had picked up the ax and was closing the distance.
“I’m Kelpie,” the little girl said softly, a strange gleam in her eyes. “Wanna play?”
Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Nina D’Arcangela
 

line_separator2

More from Author K.R. Morrison:

Be Not Afraid (Pride’s Downfall Vol 1)

Lydia’s faith in God is strong – at least on paper. But what happens when that faith is tested? Turned into a vampire by the worst – Vlad Drakul – she feels that God has abandoned her. But the opposite is true. God rescues her from a fate worse than death, and brings her into the plan He has for global redemption. With the help He sends, she feels like nothing can stop her. But when Vlad torments her again, and then her family, the temptation to run and hide is almost too strong to resist. Her answer to God’s call is the deciding factor in the battle that pits the angelic powers of God against the demonic powers of Hell.

Available on Amazon!

line_separator2

Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment