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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Rehersal
by Leah McNaughton Lederman

Janey C thinks she knows everything.
Amanda hunched over the page she’d torn from the yearbook, dripping red candle wax onto the picture of a curly-haired brunette. A sweet-looking girl, wide eyed with a perfect pout. Everyone loved Janey C.
Not me. Amanda tossed the candle in her bag. She smudged Janey’s big eyelashes with a black magic marker, and blotted out those pretty brown eyeballs with whiteout she’d stolen from the teacher’s desk.
Stupid Miss Lewis would know it was her. But what could she do, anyway? Phone was cut off again and besides, Daddy hadn’t been home in a week. Mama had been locked up since they found the burns on Amanda’s back and shoulders.
Dirty wet drops from the ceiling landed on the portrait, leaving Janey’s face mottled and gray. Not so pretty now, are you? Janey C made faces at her when no one was looking. She plugged her noise and called her the Pee Pee Queen.
Amanda was going to show everyone what a monster their favorite star student was. She peeked out from the drainage pipe and saw Janey flouncing down the stone steps of the school.
With a slow, sick smile, Amanda crinkled the paper with Janey’s mangled photo on it. Time for the real thing, she thought, and fell into step behind her classmate.
Fiction © Copyright Leah McNaughton Lederman
Image courtesy of Marge Simon 

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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.

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Be sure to check out the other fantastic events and people participating in
Women in Horror Month 9

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Three Deaths
by Angela Yuriko Smith

First Death comes…
tender unfolding halts
With sudden realization
that forever eventually
finishes and youth
is a trick of mirrors.
First Death sits
on your shoulder
for a a lifespan
foreshadowing.
Second Death comes…
ebbing pulse fades, singing
a lullaby of goodbye
as papery skin peels away
with a sudden realization
that it’s time for new luggage
to visit new horizons.
Second Death sits
at your empty place
filling the space
with a lack of you.
Third Death comes…
the last time your name
is spoken, words vanishing
in empty air, you evaporating
with them. Nothingness
falls over what was you.
Third Death sits
between the minutes
it takes to be unremembered
as your name is exhaled
from the last lips to ever
speak it.
Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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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!

 

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Be Careful What You Dream
by Melissa R. Mendelson

Jesse’s sleepover was on Halloween.  I was surprised that she invited me.  I didn’t think she liked me, but one of the girls talked her into it.  Apparently, she felt bad for me, and she was trying to do a good deed.  I should never have gone, but unfortunately for her, I did.
We stuffed our mouths with candy and watched Horror movies.  Then, we called it a night, crawling into our sleeping bags.  Only Jesse had the bed, which she shared with another girl.  The rest of us went out like a light except for me.  I struggled to stay awake, watching the moonlight flicker into the room, casting weird shadows on the walls.
I awoke abruptly, finding an old hag sitting on the floor beside me.  Her hands were crooked, and her face was disfigured.  She should have scared me, but she didn’t.
“A girl like you should not suffer from such nightmares.  How did one so young get inflicted with such horrid visions?”
“I don’t know,” I said.  “Every night, I have them.  They won’t stop.”  I looked away from her penetrating stare.  “My parents are making me see a shrink.”
“She’s going to have you locked up.”  Her words sliced me open.  “You know that.”  I started to cry.  “What if the nightmares stopped?”
“They won’t stop,” I said.  “I try to stay awake, but it doesn’t work.  Everyone thinks I’m crazy.”  I looked at the sleeping girls nearby.
“I can stop them.”  I noticed a strange cup formed in her hands.  “I can take them away.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because your nightmares drew me to you, and I would like to have them.  What do you say?”  I slowly nodded in response.  “Lie back down, and close your eyes.”  I did as she said.  “Be very still,” and suddenly, my head felt wet as if water had sprayed down around me.  But there was no water.  There was only the cup now filled to the brim.  “I have them,” and she took a sip from the cup.  “Such darkness,” and her face blurred for a moment, making me cringe.
“This is a dream.  Right,” I asked her, but she didn’t answer me.
The old hag jumped to her feet, still holding the cup with its dark liquid.  She hurried over to Jesse and grabbed her by the throat, making her gasp for air.  Then, she poured the liquid down her throat.  Jesse gagged, trying to spit it out, but the old hag slammed her hand down over her mouth.  Jesse swallowed my nightmares down.
“No,” I screamed, and the lights flashed on.  The girls looked at me.  “Did you see her?  Where did she go?”  I watched Jesse touch her throat and her mouth.
“What did you do to me,” Jesse cried.
“It wasn’t me,” but it was too late.
Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Melissa R. Mendelson:

I Left My Heart in Yesterday 

Our memories of Yesterday are wrapped tight with love and loss. Mistakes that we cannot erase. A burden that we must carry into Today, but Yesterday will never let go. It can’t let go because it needs to survive, so it takes a piece of us away. But we’ll still try to run and leave it behind, and in doing so, we’ll be the ones to say, good-bye.

Available Here!

 

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Caretaker
by Terrie Leigh Relf

The old log stairs led up to the back of my Aunt Myra and Uncle Gene’s cabin. They weren’t used much except to access the back woods, where we’d gather small branches and other bits for the wood stoves. Even though we—meaning me, Ally, and my cousins, Dirk and Debbie—didn’t realize we weren’t really related until we were much older, we might as well have been.  We spent every summer and spring vacation up at the cabin from the time we were in kindergarten through high school. Once all of us went off to college, got jobs, and did all those other adult things we were raised to be and do, we still spent a week or two together there every year.
That is until Aunt Myra and Uncle Gene were killed in one of those freak storms. They’d been on the way home from one of their monthly stock-up trips in town, and the fire department and local police said that they didn’t have a chance. Lightning decimated a row of trees and proceeded to Aunt Myra and Uncle Gene’s truck. There had been other people on the road that had been struck, too. “A tragedy. A downright tragedy,” Officer Nolan had told us when he arrived at the cabin with the news. Debbie, Dirk, and I had all been there at the time.
They’d left the cabin to all three of us, but Dirk and Debbie didn’t want any part of it. Everyone processes grief differently and in their own time, so I promised to keep the cabin up, stay there when I could. I hired Danny, a guy we’d grown up with, to watch over things. He did a good job for a while . . . until he just up and disappeared one day.
Danny wasn’t the only local that disappeared from the small mountain town. There were a few hikers, campers, and tourists staying at local bed-and-breakfasts that went out for a trek and never showed up again.  Our little town in the mountains was overrun with the press as well as local and state law enforcement for a time.  Even a few Feds and some freaky guys in black suits, wearing shades. . .  even after dark. Then again, those florescent lights at the local lodge were awful bright.
We weren’t a town that tended toward old superstitions. Then again, there were a few that came to the fore.  Plants with odd-looking pods had been popping up since the freak storm. This was about the time when the ranger and his men began to post warning signs all around the mountain trails. The back roads, too.  Perhaps there was something they knew that we didn’t. When I talked to the ranger about it, he actually gave me a stern look, said, “Just do as you’re told and stay alert.” He’d never spoken to me like that, which made me pause.
Then a few more people disappeared, which brought the total to a total of around 33 or so in an area where the population was about a hundred, give or take a few. This wasn’t counting the next town over that had a population of several thousand. Within a matter of months, it was reduced to less than 500. We figured that they just moved further up the road, given all the boarded-up houses and such.
I wasn’t the only one that believed that freak storm woke up something in the woods, or shook it loose. For some strange reason, I decided to stay on, part of me in honor of my adopted aunt and uncle, another part out of curiosity.
Then one day, I decided to go down the old log stairs that led into the woods below. I hadn’t been down them for years, so I suppose it’s true something did call out to me.  That’s when I saw the bones at the foot of the stairs—and something else that disturbed me even more.
The pods were all over the place!  While some clung to the bones and seemed mere husks, others resembled large maggots pulsing with an eerie green light.  I backed up the old log stairs, nearly fell. Were those Danny’s bones? Had he fallen and broken his legs, unable to make his way back up the stairs for help?  Those strange pods had to hold the secret to all the deaths and disappearances. It was as if they were quickened by the freak lightning storm and ensuing fire. I’d heard something about how some plants needed to burn before they could germinate or something. These were definitely not plants; they were something else entirely. Parasites?
Mesmerized, I watched as a few of the pods inched closer, elongating to slither up the logs. I took another step up the stairs, then another and another before finally reaching the safety of the warm kitchen.  After closing and locking the back door, I peered through the window. The pods were gone, and in their place, a slug-like creature wearing Danny’s face. It offered a lopsided grin, showing row after row of serrated teeth.
I wasn’t going to wait to see if it could come in the door. I grabbed my coat, purse, and car keys and ran out the door.
I never did return to the cabin . . . Occasionally, I’d hear a bit of news about the mountain town, usually on one of those paranormal documentaries.  No one lives there any more. Not in the surrounding area, either.
At least nothing human.
Fiction © Copyright Terrie Leigh Relf
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Terrie Leigh Relf:

The Sisterhood of the Blood Moon

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

Available for purchase from the Alban Lake Store!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #poem #poetry #poet

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Doll in Ferns

by Marge Simon

There was a field of wildflowers at my childhood house, things bloomed off and on all year long. In spring, vines overcame from the skeletons of dead cats to discarded children’s toys or broken bottles and barrettes. The detritus of civilization, yet there were mysteries here –a scrap of yellowed paper, lines of a love poem in faded ink. From her window next door, Crazy Silvia watched me vigilantly, as if she thought I was looking for something she’d hidden. Rumor was that she’d gone batty after her little girl was abducted many years ago. Sadly, the child was never found. To us kids, she looked just like the witch in a fairy tale, like Hansel and Gretel. On Halloween, we were afraid to trick or treat at “the Witch’s house”, for she did resemble a gray haired warty old crone.
I slept with my bedroom window open except in winter, enjoying the smells of the night air, the charms of the dark, drowsing off to the music of voices in strange languages. But one night, I heard a child’s voice, calling for its mother. There, in the ferns and wildflowers, I spotted a tiny form below. Its eyes appeared oddly pale, and moonlight formed a glowing crown around it.
At sunrise, I dressed and ran outside to the field, for I knew that pretty doll must still be somewhere in the field. But to my surprise, Old Sylvia stood there clutching the doll, rocking it back and forth in her arms and whispering to it.  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she told me her baby had come home at last. Then she hurried off with the doll.
Twenty years later, headlines in our local paper: House Razed, Child’s Bones Found in Cellar, and there was a photo of that doll next to the bones. Someone had taken a knife and scratched out its eyes.  Pinned to its chest a faded note: “From Mama with love”.
Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Marge Simon:

 

Satan’s Sweethearts
by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

Satan’s Sweethearts – a collection of poems by Marge Simon and Mary Turzillo featuring the most monstrous, evil women throughout history!

Available on Amazon!

 

 

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Hourglass
by Kathleen McCluskey

The interloper was unaware of her critical mistake laying the mythic genius’ tarot cards beside the cursed hourglass.  The mystic had been destined by blood to protect the ancient curse that lay inside of the hourglass. The ancestral women of the priestess were ordained with the task of sealing the wraith inside the glass tomb. The sand itself acted as a buffer between the real world and the underworld.
The witch now lay dead on her shop floor. Her solemn promise to the past generations was now broken. The world will soon be in the hands of a very powerful wraith.  Her dead eyes stared up at the hourglass. She could only watch from the afterlife as the murderer donned her necklaces and headdress as if she were the psychic reader. She adjusted her clothing and smiled in the mirror.
As she turned the sign on the door from closed to open she heard the sound of cracking glass. Not being familiar with the cluttered fortune teller shop she had no idea what was out of place. She looked around trying to see where the noise had come from. She walked over to the window and pulled open the curtain. The executioner had a large chill run down her spine and knew instantly that there was a presence behind her. She spun around ready to defend herself. The wraith grabbed her around the neck with his icy skeletal hands. She tried to scream but no sound would come. He pulled her close to his boney face and hissed in her face. The last thing she saw before he took her life was a pile of sand with broken glass on the floor.
The wraith took the deck of tarot cards and placed them in a large cloak that hung on the back door. He now was ready to take the world by surprise. His black skeleton would be nearly impossible to see in the darkness and he counted on it.
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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi @ErinAlMehairi @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Sacrificial Invitation
by Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi

Eating my veins,
you crunched my soul,
entrenched in red,
broken and bold fruit
that should be gold.
Crystalline-droplets,
made from salty tears
that never dry, and
blue-tinged fingers
fighting to keep alive.
Stealing time, plucked
like a vine, the scarlet runs
like a river backward,
squeezed and tart,
I’m the undead,
unleashed in penance.
At your altar, mistaken
for trust, I bow to a
maniacal persona of a
man consumed with blood.
Terror-ridden, exalted gasps
of horror, admired for fear,
drinking from the communal
cup of violence, searing pain
my embodiment endures.
Sticky offering,
bitter and jaded,
drink of me,
…think of me,
run far away and forget me.
The invitation is not for you,
but for those hollow-less souls
who wander without eyes,
who roam without hearts,
who are blind and erased
from dreams, pitch-black dark.
Fiction © Copyright Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi
Fiction Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi:

Breath. Breath. 

It’s the one-year anniversary of the publishing of my debut dark poetry and short story collection, Breathe. Breathe. Much of it tells my life’s pains and haunts and fears poured, sometimes savagely, onto the page. However, there is also legend, folklore, and fantasy as well. 

Breathe. Breathe. is a collection of dark poetry and short fiction exploring the surreal depths of humanity. It’s a representation of how life breaks us apart and words put us back together. Purged onto the pages, dark emotions flow, urging readers into murky seas and grim forests, to the fine line between breathing and death.In Act One, readers are presented with a serial killer in Victorian London, a lighthouse keeper with an eerie legacy, a murderous spouse that seems to have walked right out of a mystery novel, and a treacherous Japanese lady who wants to stay immortal. The heightened fears in the twilight of your minds will seep into the blackest of your nights, where you have to breathe in rhythm to stay alive.
In Act Two, the poetry turns more internal and pierces through the wall of denial and pain, bringing visceral emotions to the surface unleashing traumas such as domestic abuse, violence, and illness.
In the short stories, you’ll meet residents of Valhalla Lane whose lives are on a violent parallel track to collision, a man who is driven mad by the sound of a woodpecker, a teenage girl who wakes up on the beach and can’t find another soul in sight, a woman caught in a time shift pitting her against the Egyptian goddess Anuket, and a little girl whose whole world changes when her favorite dandelion yellow crayon is discontinued.
Amid these pages the haunting themes of oppression, isolation, revenge, and madness unfold through folklore, nightmares, and often times, raw, impulsive passion crafted to sear from the inside out.
With a touching foreword by the Bram Stoker nominated author Brian Kirk, Breathe. Breathe. will at times unsettle you, and at times embrace you. Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi, a veteran writer and editor of the written word, offers up a mixed set of pieces, identifying her as a strong, new voice in dark fiction that will tear the heart from your chest, all the while reminding you to breathe.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Of Earth
by Ela Lourenco

Of Earth and Sky were we born
Of Thunder, Lighting, Wind and Sea
Pink young flesh and beating hearts
Of joy, sorrow, pain and love
The Darkness inched in subtly
The Sun still shone for many a year
By the time we realised its glow had dimmed
The disease had spread without repair.
We consumed, devoured ourselves
Pink flesh turned ashen
Gleaming locks dulled with rot
Feeding, yet forever starving
The sickness spread within
Until all that was left was a planet of dirt
Old bones and carcasses that once did live.
Fiction © Copyright Ela Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Ela Lourenco:

Essence

Katra is a Fae Hunter in a world once ravaged by a terrible war. Having lost all memory of her childhood and rightful identity, her duty is now to protect the tentative peace brokered by the varying races of the supernatural world. When an evil darkness begins to spread, draining young witches of their power, Katra must find a way back to her true past in order to save the future.

Enduring many trials as ever-increasing powers awaken within her, Katra must also struggle with the mixed emotions her new partner, Blade – a Black Dragon – is rousing within her. Together they must battle the shadows that plan to devour the world they know and prevent its decent into another thousand-year war.

Can Katra hold onto her strength as the truth of her very being begins to unravel? Can she bear the weight that ancient prophecy has placed on her young shoulders? Or is her destiny to regain her true self, only to lose the world she is sworn to protect?

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sonora Taylor @sonorawrites @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Hollow
by Sonora Taylor

Mrs. Sassafras was Lindsay’s favorite doll. Lindsay spotted Mrs. Sassafras at the church rummage sale, her porcelain cheeks dull and her linen dress yellowed. But it was her eyes that drew Lindsay in. Their irises were gone, perhaps faded with time. Wherever they’d gone, Lindsay didn’t care. She wanted the doll, and once her mother bought it, it became her favorite.
Lindsay liked that Mrs. Sassafras couldn’t look at her. Her mother often looked at her with a sigh, her teachers with frustration as she answered questions wrong, her classmates with mocking and laughter as they asked why she was so quiet. Her cousin Bethany, who was her age and also in her class, was the worst. She always picked on her, both at home and at school. She pretended she wasn’t Lindsay’s cousin when she was around her friends, but it was their being related that gave Bethany so much more to tease her about.
The teasing and laughter were too much to bear, but Mrs. Sassafras made it better. Lindsay would hug her close when things got bad, when Lindsay’s sadness was overcome with darkness that clouded her mind. Mrs. Sassafras didn’t care if Lindsay emanated darkness. Mrs. Sassafras couldn’t see her.
Bethany saw her every Sunday, when Aunt Noelle and Uncle Howard would all come over for dinner. Bethany would be sent upstairs to play with Lindsay, and Bethany would spend that time taking her toys, bragging about how many more friends she had or how her grades were better, or making fun of whatever Lindsay was wearing that day.
One Sunday, her teasing went to Mrs. Sassafras. “What an ugly doll,” Bethany said with a sneer as she picked her up.
“Put her down,” Lindsay said as she sped towards Bethany. She wouldn’t let Bethany ruin Mrs. Sassafras.
“Of course you’d love a doll as ugly as you are.”
“Give her to me!”
Bethany threw Mrs. Sassafras on the ground. Her face cracked and her arm broke off. The arm lay on the floor, its end in jagged shards. Lindsay dropped to her knees and picked up the arm, blinking back tears.
“You’re crying over an ugly doll?” Bethany laughed. It was the ugliest sound Lindsay had ever heard. She wanted it to end. She knew how to end it.
Lindsay stood up and smacked Bethany across the face with the arm. Bethany fell, her eyes wide in both shock and pain. Lindsay felt ignited by how good Bethany’s fear made her feel. She struck Bethany again, then again. Bethany’s cheek began to bleed, and her cries grew less with every blow. Lindsay dealt her one final, deep blow to the neck. Blood trickled from Bethany’s neck, and she lay still.
Lindsay dropped the arm and picked up Mrs. Sassafras. Blood smattered her cracked cheeks, and she stared at her with hollow eyes. For the first time, Lindsay thought she saw something swimming in their depths. She held Mrs. Sassafras’ cheek. The hollow stared back at her. Lindsay smiled at its emptiness. She closed her eyes and brought Mrs. Sassafras’ cheek to hers, whispering, “I love you.”
Fiction © Copyright Sonora Taylor
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Sonora Taylor:

WITHER and Other Stories

Should we or shouldn’t we? It’s a question many ask themselves each day. Should we or shouldn’t we wither in a wooded paradise instead of a broken city? Leave our home when the news warns us of what’s outside? Join in a circle of nighttime delights? Be with someone who awakens our sins?

“Wither and Other Stories” tells four tales of the choice to partake. In the end, the choice may not need to be made. For when we ask ourselves, “Should we or shouldn’t we,” the answer is always yes.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author A.F. Stewart @scribe77 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #poem #poet #poetry

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Hour of Death

by A.F. Stewart

Between the Tarot
and the hourglass
the shifting shadows dance
in the everlastingly music
of the reaper’s final blade
The cards on velvet never lie
Oh, they divulge your sordid tale
Of the blood and the misery,
of your secrets unrevealed,
and corruption in your soul
I hear the pale screams
in the echo of the sand
Across the telling cards
the ghosts convey their pleas
Yet, you smile at their pain
Whispers from the Tarot,
see, written on the cards
The hourglass has run its course
and your time, it has come
Your fate is in the shadows
The reaper waits for you
I smile at your leaving,
and watch the shadows move
Between the Tarot
and the hourglass
Death will take its due
Fiction © Copyright A.F. Stewart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from A.F. Stewart:

Abandoned: 13 Tales of Impulse, Betrayal, Surrender, & Withdrawal

To act with abandon, in any sense of the word, is human. Whether it’s the sudden, strong urge to do something, either good or bad, or the act of betraying someone you love, we make choices that forever change our lives. Do you give into something or someone completely, or withdraw wholly into yourself? These thirteen stories run the gamut of emotions and express horror as you’ve never imagined it.

The story of a woman alone at the end of the world and the small lifeline she hopes will prove humanity still exists challenges the search for anything left behind after the death of a child. What if you hid a secret you’d thought no one else knew? Would its revelation spark the monster hiding within? A downward spiral into madness juxtaposes the ultimate, but impossible, (re)birth. Would you choose the frigid winds of winter over the warmth and safety of your lover’s arms?

Abandon hope, all who enter here…

Available on Amazon!

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