The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Secrets of a Living Earth
by Ashley Davis

The lady of the marshes. I’ve heard too many tales about her for them all to be true, but I know to respect her and keep my distance while also making clear my presence when in the marshlands. Some on the island say she’s a ghost who preys on the souls of children, leeching part of our life force with every glance. Some of the younger ones say she actually drinks the blood of the marsh animals, some kind of woodland vampire. The oldest fishermen say that to look into her face is to curse yourself for life, and they avoid her waters. But I know there are many who don’t believe, and many who can’t see her no matter how hard they look. She chooses who can see her; I don’t know what kind of magic that is. I don’t know how she chooses or why I was chosen. All I know is that she cannot truly be alive, but I have seen her. I think she’s part of the marshes themselves—not the place, but the dark wildness that lives in places like that. In my dreams, I often recall the first time I saw her. It was the first time I was brave enough to go there alone, and I didn’t have an offering because I didn’t expect to see her. I wasn’t special enough. Not for her magic. But I wound through the shallow waters, exposed tree roots, and thick flora anyway. I felt pulled along this path, an invisible string winding its way through endless galaxies and multiverses to bring one world into the next. I noticed that I saw no animals on my way in, but I heard them, somewhere not far from me. I followed the sound. Rounding a tree, my heart stopped in my chest. I saw her island. Painted with flowers, garlanded with lichen and moss, and teeming with abundant life. In the midst of it stood a tall figure in a cloak of reeds and moss, facing away from me. Instantly I knew it was her, and that she was letting me see her. A stark-white hand reached back and pulled her cloak with her as she turned, so graceful she could have been a ballet dancer, or an angel. Inside the darkened hood was a long, heart-shaped face. The structure was skeletal, the skin a translucent green, but it did not frighten me. Her eyes glowed with white fire that told me I was safe. She stared at me for what felt like an eternity, then pulled back her hood and shook out her lichen-entangled hair. More life reached her skin when exposed to sunlight, but her true self was in those shadows. This was merely to comfort me. She reached out a hand and I took it, not realizing I’d been moving closer the entire time. The frogs, toads, and snakes moved out of my way as I approached her, the birds sang quieter, and butterflies alit all over me. Scorpions and spiders gathered close, and even the fish rose to the surface. A huge lizard peered at me from behind a rock. A dark shadow fell over us and I looked up to see a black leopard perched in a tree above us, lazily swinging her tail, eyes sparkling. I sat down beside the lady, still not speaking. Speaking isn’t necessary with her. She whispered my name aloud once—“Elizabeth”—and delicately alit on a tree stump. She deftly pulled reeds from the water, flowers from the vines crisscrossing the canopy above us, and pulled my hair up into a facsimile of the nature she commanded. She drew handfuls of white mud from the shallows and painted my face so it resembled hers, like you could see my skull through my skin. She pulled me to the edge of the water to see my reflection, and it was beautiful. The more I stared at my reflection, the more the human world seemed to fade away. It was so very small. She smiled at her work and motioned for me to wait. She used a stick to carve the outline of a fearsome dragon in the wet sand. My dragon. The dragon of crimson and jade that waits for me beneath the crashing waves beyond the northern cliffs. Her eyes glowed red when they met mine again, her face grave, and I understood; I had always understood. She pulled from her cloak a tiny bird made of blue moss the color of robins’ eggs, and placed it in my outstretched palm, where it fit perfectly.

Waves are illusions. Heights are only relative. To go down into the sea will make you fly one day, little bird. But only when you know the right words. I can always be found in the trees.

With that, she let go of my hand and walked into the water, submerging herself completely even though I knew it wasn’t deep, disappearing like smoke into aether, taking the animals with her but leaving the scintillating ghost of her magic behind. I stayed until the moon was high in the sky that night, and then I went home. My dreams of her have been constant since then. The comforting outline of her luminous skull, the reassurance of her cold, wet hands. She never spoke in my dreams, though, until last night. In the dream, I approached her as I always did, but instead of the usual response, she did not pull back her hood when she turned. She pulled me to her with both hands, eyes burning scarlet, and we crouched in a gathering of fronds. The calm was gone, replaced by a fear of time running out—not just opportunities lost, but worlds gone cold in the vastness of the universe.

The one you seek has already found you, but he is not your friend. Use what you gain in the room of stars, if you make it that far. Then fly, high and hard, to your destiny. For us all. The dragon of jade and crimson comes for us when the days turn to darkness. Be ready to counter this enemy with blood and blades, courage and cunning, for he is Death Beyond.

Before I could ask any questions, I awoke in a cold sweat. The dream was a message, one with a time limit, but would I know the right words? Had I heard the right instructions to save us? Her final words rang in my ears over and over.

Be ready…for he is Death Beyond.

Fiction © Copyright Ashley Davis
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

Poetry by Ashley Davis can be found featured in the fall 2017 issue of
The Horror Zine

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Nightmares
by C.A. Verstraete

I woke again in the middle of night, not sure why.

Then I heard it. I listened, my heart pounding. There it was again. A definite creaking like… like someone was walking.

I sat up and listened again. Nothing. Okay, I was hearing things. I had to stop eating so late. I settled back under the covers again, trying to still my thoughts, turn off my brain. I had to get some sleep.

This restlessness had begun last week. I’d be in a deep sleep and then I’d pop awake. I’d lay there, eyes wide open, waiting, watching, thinking that something was out there. It was like the old childhood fear of a monster hiding in the closet waiting to get me, except this was ten times worse.

I’d mentioned it to my friend, who typically laughed such things off. “The boogie man? Or maybe it’s the man of your dreams – or nightmares? Haaaa!”

Her laughter still grated.

I did try to shake it off. I tried to ignore the odd feeling of dread that came over me at bedtime. I drank a hot toddy, enjoying the warmth of the whiskey. I took a hot bath. I rubbed Vicks on my feet thinking maybe I’d caught a bug or something.

I fell into a deep sleep and then wham! My eyes popped open. I sat up and stared at the closet door, my heart pounding even harder. It-it was partly open! But I’d closed it. I swore I did. I had!

I trembled, thinking about what I should do. Close the door, or run and fling it open? Or should I just get up and go watch TV?

The partly open door mocked me. It lured me. I remembered my friend laughing at me. Anger spurred me on.

I flung my feet over the edge of the bed and slid into my slippers. Slowly, my hand feeling along the edge of the bed, I made my way toward the closet. One foot. Two feet. Closer and closer. I stood within inches of the door and listened. All I heard was the heavy thump-thump-thump of my heart.

“You’re being silly,” I whispered. “There’s nothing there. Nothing.”

I reached out, grabbed the knob, and pulled the door open. Nothing jumped out at me. The room remained quiet. I flicked on the light switch and stared at… nothing. A jumble of clothes. Piles of shoes and handbags. I really needed to clean that up.

Disgusted with myself, I turned off the light and shut the door. I was awake, so I decided to go make some coffee. I turned and…

There! I heard it again.

I stood still, unable to move as I heard the sound again.

Something moved. I could hear it sliding around. It thumped against the bed frame. It scratched and clicked the wood floor.

I began to shiver, thoughts of long, sharp nails digging in the floor as it tried to make its way out to get me.

The sounds grew louder. I screamed and grabbed at the door, my sweaty hands sliding. I couldn’t get hold of the doorknob. I couldn’t get the door open!

I turned and saw a long, scaly limb snaking out. I grabbed at the wall, my hand pushing the light on, revealing…

Nothing. I was alone.

No—wait! I screamed at the reflection in the mirror across the way. My face! “What happened to me? What’s happening?”

The eerie black and white face, something that looked like a distorted X-ray, stared back. But it wasn’t me. It was… I backed up, trying to get away.

 “No, No! Someone help, hellllllllllll—”

Fiction © Copyright Ashley Davis
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

More from Author C.A. Verstraete:
Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter
Every family has its secrets…

One hot August morning in 1892, Lizzie Borden picked up an axe and murdered her father and stepmother. Newspapers claim she did it for the oldest of reasons: family conflicts, jealousy and greed. But what if her parents were already dead? What if Lizzie slaughtered them because they’d become zombies?

Thrust into a horrific world where the walking dead are part of a shocking conspiracy to infect not only Fall River, Massachusetts, but also the world beyond, Lizzie battles to protect her sister, Emma, and her hometown from nightmarish ghouls and the evil forces controlling them.

Available Here!