Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elizabeth H. Smith @bethsmithwrites @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 20, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

To See
by Elizabeth H. Smith

Joan didn’t think much of the old glasses she found while hiking in the Rockies. It was a trip she took at least twice a year, sometimes more, and there was unfortunately always something left behind by a careless fellow traveler. She let out a sigh and picked up the glasses. It irked her when people left their presence in the few untainted places of beauty that still existed in the world.

She normally put any refuse she found into a prepared bag brought along just for that purpose. But the glasses tingled in her hand. They sent warm waves of electricity through her fingers, which traveled up her arm, finally spreading throughout her body. The uncontrollable urge to put them on came over her. With there being no reason to resist she could think of, she did just that.

Though the glass was cracked on both lenses, she could see clearly, as though they weren’t damaged at all. In fact, it was the clearest she’d ever seen. Every color, every grain, each and every beam of sunlight showed itself in full and indescribable detail. The magnetic field of the Earth appeared in the sky. The scent trails of insects and fauna streamed along the ground and through the air. She saw spectrums human eyes weren’t meant to see.

She pulled them off her eyes and blinked. The world around her looked normal again.

Not only the call of these strange glasses urged her, but now curiosity as well. She put them back on and stared in awe at the wonderous sights revealed. A new scent trail appeared. It looked different from the others. And it, like the spectacles, called to her. Her feet stepped forward in line with the ebbing and flowing residue of whatever took this path.

As she followed, her nose picked up something as well. An odor she couldn’t recognize. Not foul, not pleasant, just…different. This led her off the main trail she normally walked, and off into unmarked territory. The scent became stronger as she made her way through the brush and mat of fallen, long-dead leaves.

At the end of this trail, the entrance to a cave yawned before her, concealing its insides in darkness. Joan threw her pack around front and retrieved her flashlight. With a deep breath, and a beam to guide her way, she entered.

The air inside was moist and the neutral scent she followed grew unbearably strong. But the unexplainable drive she felt kept her legs moving forward, deeper, closer.

The sound of labored breathing made her quiet her steps and search with her light. The bearer of that scent trail stood at the end of the cave, waiting. The flashlight reflected off its hungry eyes. Its flesh drooped in gruesome folds. It looked as though some kind of fungus grew from the cracks and it was covered in mud and filth. A pile of bones sat behind it, every morsel of flesh stripped from them.

Joan’s first thought was to run, but the thing she found was too fast. The glasses fell from her eyes and crashed to the ground as she was grabbed by a massive hand wrapped around her waist. She was lifted from the ground, and feet first, gnawed slowly to death as the cave-dwelling monstrosity had its next meal.

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Fiction © Copyright Elizabeth H. Smith
Image Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
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More About Elizabeth H. Smith:
Elizabeth H. Smith is a storyteller who writes while trying to keep her cat, Luna off the keyboard. The musical group, Rasputina is her muse. She was born in the state of New York and would never feel at home anywhere else.

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

Posted on April 20, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Witch’s Moon 
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

The moon is full tonight. High above the trees. I hear its singing in my head. This must be the night. I’ve known it would come all my life. I’ve been studying for it. It means I won’t live to see the sunrise, but I’ve made peace with that. A long time ago, the tradition began. A second daughter born to a high witch is meant for sacrifice. On the first full moon after their eighteenth summer, they must lie upon the altar while the coven watches. The high witch performs the ritual. Giving their own child to the full moon. This will ensure the village survives until the next birth of a second daughter.

The second daughter is dispensable, you see. My older sister will be the next high witch. It’s her birthright. Just as this is mine.

I don’t begrudge my fate. I wish I could see tomorrow. Raise a family someday. But it is not to be. I must ready myself for the altar. God speed to you, my friend.

Beware the witch’s moon…

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Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose

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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 Kim Richards @Kim_Richards @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 31, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Facing the Fire
by Kim Richards 

     Johnny jumped off the fire truck as it slowed to a stop. Mere seconds in firefighting meant life or death.

     He listened to radio chatter on the quick drive here and knew this was a bad one. Immediately the gestures of his lieutenant caught his attention, directing him to the right. There a burning tree touched the roof of a home, lighting it as if taking a match to a candle.  He coughed as noxious fumes from the fire reached him. Something odd about that particular acrid scent tugged at the edges of his mind. He secured his gas mask in place, pulled his red helmet low, and moved towards the building.

     Thick, black smoke billowed skyward from holes in the ceiling. Here and there Johnny caught glimpses of red and yellow flames swirling in the center of the smoke plumes. This was a bad one. He felt blistering heat, despite his heavy gear.  His heartbeat quickened, as did his breathing. He took a deep breath and waded in, axe in hand.

     Johnny reached the side door and saw movement within the heavy smoke. He blinked, unsure of what he saw but then it happened again. A gloved hand, waved from waist height inside the building. He realized someone, likely injured, struggled to get out of the building. Ducking his head down, he rushed forward.

     He reached the fallen fireman and recognized Duffy’s battered helmet. Johnny realized smoldering ceiling timbers pinned the man’s legs. He set the axe to one side and grasped Duffy’s hands. When he pulled hard, the trapped man yowled in pain. Glowing embers rained overtop both men in a deadly and beautiful dance of gold and crimson lights.

     “I’ve got you!”

     Unwilling to let go, Johnny planted his heels and leaned his body weight back to aid his strength in another attempt to pull Duffy from the burning wood. He grunted with the effort, while the other man grit his teeth.

With still no luck, Johnny released Duffy’s hands and retrieved his axe. He raised it above his head and then paused. Eyes of fire blinked.

     Deep laughter rumbled from inside the flickering flames above. Dark smoke swirled around like hellish breath.

     What the…?

     Johnny turned to Duffy, “Is someone back there?”

     “Not any more,” came the hoarse reply.

     After chopping at the wood near Duffy’s legs with little progress, Johnny reaffirmed his grip on Duffy’s gloved hands. He renewed his efforts to pull him from the flaming wreckage. With one great yank backwards, he fell backwards. He managed to scoot the other man a few inches

     “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck,” Duffy cried out. His eyes were wide with terror.

     “I’ve got you,” Johnny said.

     “That’s what I told the poor bastard who lived here…before it ate him,” Duffy cried out. “You’re dead too!”

     Must be those fumes, Johnny thought. He pulled all the harder, inching the two of them across to the doorway.

     Just then an enormous flame belched forth from the open doorway, washing over the two men in a brilliant and searing flash. Duffy screamed as he turned into a bubbling, cowering mass of flesh. The last thing Johnny saw was a pair of angry eyes bearing down on them and then he was gone.

.

Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

Posted on March 31, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Beginning is the End  
by Ela Lourenco 

I sway with the flicker of the molten heat

In tandem with the dance of the flames

Born of my wrath

The Earth tree,

The giver of life

Is shrivelling under my gaze

Returning to the ashes

From whence she came.

.

The skies darken slowly,

Birdsong quietens

Even the air is still

My throat constricts

Gasping for oxygen

As the universe sucks back

All life

And turns the Earth

Into a dead rock

Devoid of all life…

.

Fiction © Copyright Ela Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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More from Ela Lourenco:

awakeningDragon Born: Book Three
Awakening

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

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alyson Faye @AlysonFaye2 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 30, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!




The Phoenix Tree
by Alyson Faye 

Our village was many generations old. We followed the ancient ways- ploughing the land, sowing and consuming the crops, baking bread, brewing ale, stitching our clothes, worshipping in the stone built church around which we buried our dead in the rich, loamy earth.

We did have a problem with our dead, for they had a habit of resurrecting despite the iron nails hammered into the coffin lids.

No one in our village talked about the returning dead, nor admitted how afraid they were of seeing their loved ones faces at their front door; bone-white, blue-lipped, dark-eyed.

Every Sunday, Eli, our village leader, preached from the pulpit, banging the Bible with his fist, and we’d all listen or  . . . pretend to.

Rachel was one who pretended. She would sit, head bowed, eyes closed, outwardly compliant, but I knew different. I watched her as she worked in the mill, as she walked round the village, chatting, laughing, singing and swinging her hips, arm in arm with her best friend, Mercy Robbins.

Rachel and Mercy, they are both dirty, I would chant under my breath. My chest heaving with fury.

I knew that come dusk they’d be creeping from their family cottages, silent as cats, tiptoeing to The Phoenix Tree. There they’d dance and pray, trying to conjure familiars, obscene powerful beings, who dwelt beneath its tunnelling roots.

Local lore said that the Phoenix Tree’s root system stretched all the way around the village. At the culmination of every annual harvest it burst into flames, yet the branches and leaves did not die, oh no, like the legendary Phoenix, it was reborn.

The tree’s life force kept our fields fertile, but it also empowered our dead to walk again. What Rachel and Mercy were doing was both strictly forbidden and dangerous.

I wrote a note to Eli, disguising my script and, under cover of darkness, pushed it beneath his cottage door.

Mercy Robbins and Rachel Brewer are visiting The Phoenix Tree nightly. There they remove their clothing, untie their hair, and dance in a wanton fashion, chanting spells, asking the tree for gifts and familiars to be bestowed upon them.

I did not imagine that such terrible things would follow. How could I? Eli and the elders were good men, gentle men . . . or so I believed . . . then.

There was a meeting in the church, where, from outside the window, I overheard raised voices, shouting, ‘Witches!’ ‘Whores!’ ‘Impure!’

Eli, nodded along, a smile on his lips. I longed to go inside, but as a junior, of only fifteen summers, I had not earned my place.

My stomach tightened with fear, acid soured my mouth. I realised my note had started something terrible.

That night a group of  village men, met by the Lychgate, carrying iron bars, hoes, or spades and Eli blessed them before their ‘righteous mission’.

I followed them as they hiked across the first field of wheat, into the copse of trees where the youngsters play hide and seek in summer, and onwards to the Phoenix Tree.

I kept turning round, certain I heard rustling and thumping behind me, yet I saw nothing.

Our Mayor and village blacksmith were amongst the half dozen men who closed in on Mercy and Rachel. The girls were oblivious, dancing, waving their arms, singing, dressed only in moonlight. I hid in the long grass, fear sickening my belly, heart beating fast.

The men rushed at the girls, grabbing them, beating and kicking. I covered my eyes, but still heard the girls’ screams.

I smelled burning wood and strangely, the stink of rotting meat. I was too afraid to look. I felt bodies brushing past me, heard heavy footsteps stumbling, and I knew the dead were walking. That was who had been following me. I forced myself to look.

The Phoenix Tree was ablaze, every branch burning a vibrant, terrifying orange. Yet it was not harvest time. Worse than this I witnessed six of the dead, (including my Uncle who’d passed recently), raise a bruised, blackened fist and hit Eli full in the face, again and again.

I saw Mercy and Rachel huddled on the ground, whilst around them the dead fought with fury, in one-to-one combat, rotting limbs battling with living bodies, who one by one, fell bleeding, horribly disfigured, to the ground.

It was over in minutes. The flames roared, and the six dead men walked into the inferno that was the Phoenix Tree.

I knew that there they would be reborn and back in our village at cock crow.  This is the gift and the curse of our village.

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Fiction © Copyright Alyson Faye
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Alyson Faye:

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The Lost Girl & Spindleshanks

The Lost Girl
A nailed-up door. An inheritance which comes with a ghost. A missing girl. A fifty-year-old mystery. Parapsychologist Berkley Osgood is hired to investigate. What he uncovers reveals secrets the living want to hide and the dead will never forgive.

Spindleshanks
Adam is having nightmares about a skeletal shadow figure, who he calls Spindleshanks. Soon his whole class are sharing the same nightmare. Adam’s dad, Rob, knows that Spindleshanks can’t be real. But is he? One terrible night Rob has to face his son’s nightmare creature and fight for his son’s life. What would you sacrifice to have your child back safe?

“A decent two-for-one. Alyson Faye brings the engaging and eerie in equal measure.” CC Adams – horror / dark fiction author

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author R.A. Clarke @RAClarkeWrites @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 30, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Don’t Delay! Book Your Trip Today. 
by R.A. Clarke 

.

I am Death’s kaleidoscopic competition.

Where he is all darkness and brood,

I am buoyancy, and manic vibrance.

Where he fails to tread, I invade freely.

.

I fall upon the shores like a crashing wave to a fresh continent and new customers.

Nomadic in nature, I roam place to place.

Seeking souls who are in need of service.

.

Death lurks, ever so dull and macabre.

Travelling in his skeletal arms is drab.

The pain he offers—mundane—typical.

But a journey through me is exuberance.

.

My final embrace is saturated by colour and daubed with my own unique beauty.

I offer brilliance and titillation on the ride.

A last hurrah of indulgences, of excess.

.

Where ol’ Death offers only moroseness,

a straight shot from grave to hell’s gate.

I offer thrills and pleasure to those whose

lifeline ends—by nature, force, or choice.

.

I am celebrity and carnival, drug and sex.

To die is inevitable, as bland as white tile upon subway walls.

Instead, let graffiti slather your demise with untamed strokes.

Choose my services—I won’t disappoint.

.

Let me sweep you away to a riotous rest.

Let me be your final chauffeur and host.

Let me fill you with sweet, delicious sin before it’s time to pay the final bill in Hell.

.

Why go in shadow, and torturous regret?

Choose me and forsake that black cloak.

Travel in light and disco, and indulgence.

Take my hand to savour pure effulgence

.

on your one-way-trip to the inferno deep.

I don’t venture up, for that’s angels’ work.

Luminous chaos doesn’t suit such a task.

But a thrill ride to hell, now you’re talking.

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Fiction © Copyright R.A. Clarke
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from author R.A. Clarke:

RAClarke_RaceToNovus

A daughter’s last chance at redemption on an alien planet. A sweeping secret that could not only end her dreams, but her life as well.

Finn Rucker boards the starship to seek a fresh start as part of a colonizing effort on Joya. The race, sponsored by Governus, yields free land and startup funds for the lucky winners. The number of entrants guarantees someone is going to lose and Finn is determined that she and her bionic horse, Herc, are among the winners.

Racing through uncharted jungle to the settlement of Novus, Finn and her fellow racers soon discover that not everything is as it seems – and Governus withheld information from the contestants. Strange beasts attack the racers, mechanical equipment begins to fail, and the very air seems out to get them.

When all seems lost, a mysterious people arrive and help the racers, revealing the depth of Governus’ deception. Finn will have to keep her pulse pistols close and her new friends closer – but not too close – as they all race to survive the jungle.

You will love this mashup of Hidalgo and James Cameron’s Avatar as Finn navigates the guilt of her past, the promise of a future, and the imminent dangers of her present.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kendra Smart @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 29, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Guardian Angel   
by Kendra Smart  

The sun had shone brightly that day. The temperature had been so nice. The perfect transition in degrees as the sun waned and the moon rose. A day to remember in the worse off weather days. 

A festival had been opened to celebrate the change in season from spring to summer. To let the resident’s of the working colony shake off the cold and have some fun. This year had been filled with long nights and even longer days. The work had been hard on both, those going to work and the ones left to mourn their absence. 

Mary Faireborn had watched not only her Grandfather but her Mother make the daily journey off to the shuttle that would take the chemist and scientist to their respective places. Her mind had not been sparked by the sciences but by the humanities, so she found herself capped and donned in the medical services provided to the colony. She stood in this field alongside deeply dedicated colleagues and friends who felt the same as she did dedication wise. 

Her favorite times though were when they got to focus on the children. Once a month they spent a day with the children, doing their check ups and updating vitals to ensure all was well and the children were not dealing with any ramifications of being near the plant. It also ensured a day of smiles and activities. 

Given the festival in the town square, it was not a hard path to follow to figure out how Mary found herself with angel makeup taking the vitals of a four year old girl in the guise of a unicorn. The smells of deep fried delights, both sweet and savory, had already been brought on the wind to tempt her. 

After an hour, she gave in. Funnel cake became her weakness and her joy. 

Mary paused as the warm, sugary treat melted in her mouth. Her people watching took over the storm of a prioritized mind. It was nice to just exist for a moment. Couples and families, both old and young, made their way across the fairground. The music that was playing through the speakers was joyful and uplifting, true instrumental carnival music. The lights were buzzing as they began to come on, but it wasn’t yet the true time to enjoy their brilliance. 

Too much daylight left to admire. 

Such a silly thing to complain about really. 

Mary watched as the “free-to-go” young ones raced around crying in wild abandonment as now, responsibility was over, along with obligation. Now happiness could be embraced. It also meant her part to play was almost done too. 

She fixed her stiff,cotton cap as she went to the sanitary fountain to wash her hands. The obscenely bright yellow foundations had been installed years ago to mimic those used by the scientists and other plant workers. It did the job of sparking the children’s minds in the light of science. 

A vibration from her pocket caught her focus as she pulled it from her phone from her scrub pocket. Mom.

Accepting the call, she wasn’t even given the time to suck in the breath it would have taken to say hello. 

“Operation Vermillion, Mary.Start Operation Vermillion!”

The call broke before Mary could even form thought let alone words. But that mattered little. The time was for action. 

Mary immediately knelt by the fountain as she and the others had been trained. She began to pry at the metal door with her hands desperately trying to get it open. Nothing mattered more than sounding the signal. She felt the metal ripping at her knuckles, her hands, her nail beds. Anything she put in the way of open and close was an offering. 

The ground under her feet moved. A ripple more than a quake but the extra momentum helped jar the door hinge fly free. Mary felt her weight and world shift and tried to adjust but her ankle went too far left and a solid pop let her know she was in for a painful time. 

A brief moment allowed for the pain to scream free from her lungs and then it was back to business. The door was open now and the red phone inside lifted easily. A crackle in the air as the music ceased and the silence save for Mary’s haggard breathe on the air waves.

“This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Code Vermillion. I repeat. Code Vermillion. Please hurry.”

She repeated the message five times, before her own pain and getting herself to safety became a priority. But she had time, the time to take in the moment around her before subjecting herself to mind numbing agony. The people in the square had immediately initiated their protocols. Their precision was almost scary. The plans executed with such care to the details that Mary felt warmth in her chest. 

As she watched, the lighting changed, the sun seemed to go down so quickly as night filled the air allowing the various rides to shine their lights in true brilliance. The true perfect time. Their glowing lights, that felt in the millions in her eyes, highlighted perfectly the ash falling from the sky like snowfall. 

Hopefully her Mother and Grandfather’s actions helped, hopefully she was quick enough to save lives. More ripples pulsed through and there was a shudder as the earth seemed to crack near her. In a moment it was as though she weighed nothing, her body was flying in circular spinning motion. She could still hear the faint strains of the violins and organ music of the carnival playing. The vision she saw from up here was like that of a fever dream of a child. 

***

From the ground, a young girl who had been ushered onto a bus, watched as her whole world shifted in but a few moments. As the bus shifted finally forward and they began the rush away from the colony, the unicorn saw her Angel fly. Flying with wings of electricity. An angel she knew. 

Hers.

.

Fiction © Copyright Kendra Smart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Kendra Smart:

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Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology

A collection of poetry.

‘Just Emotions‘ is exactly as it states, a group of writers who had feelings they wanted to express in poem form. Inside, there are a range of emotions to explore. Each writer has given a bit of themselves to you, each in their own way.

We hope that you enjoy these writings and that among the poems you may find some thing you can identify with or relate to. Thank you for giving us this chance to open the catacombs and share with you.

Available on Amazon!  

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

Posted on March 29, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Moonrise
by Scarlett R. Algee 

At the precipice, the sacrifice squirms on his knees on the stony ice-slick ground, weighted by shackles and staring fuzzily up at the sky. Some distance behind, you and the others study that flat black expanse, vacant as though every star has fled in terror, and wait for the false moon to rise.

The sky lightens when the cratered white orb heaves its bulk over the mountain and hovers there, far too large and close to be the real moon. God? Monster? Demon? No one knows, save that it rises every month, and that the harvests are only successful when it’s fed.

The sacrifice whimpers. Cracks are working horizontally across that enormous pockmarked surface, shedding flakes of desiccated flesh like scraps of regolith. Then the first great crevice trembles and opens, baring a single faceted yellow eye, and the sacrifice screams.

The opening of the second crack is the yawn of a wet red mouth, and the scream abruptly stops.

The false moon sinks slowly, stars creeping back into the empty sky, and you, watching, let out your breath. Safe again. Safe until another is chosen.

Perhaps the next sacrifice will be you, called to ensure a future harvest. You hope, and you fear.

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Fiction © Copyright Scarlett R. Algee
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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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!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzie Lockhart @SuzieNBruce2 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 28, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Burn 
by Suzie Lockhart 

One spark. One tree.
Warning siblings of impending,
glorious killing fields;
brilliant flames licking the heavens,
skies reflecting striking shades
of tangerine and scarlet…
Before the blackened soot
leaves behind a legacy of destruction,
homes desecrated
in the aftermath;
smoke choking victims
mourning memories
lost legacies;
the wildfires
burnt to the ground
everything around them.
Crumbling to dust.

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Fiction © Copyright Suzie Lockhart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Suzie Lockhart:

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!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Naching T. Kassa @NachingKassa @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 28, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Alaina
by Naching T. Kassa 

Alaina paused, considered the swirl of color on the brick wall, and took a deep breath. The chill night air smelled of exhaust, dust and best of all—paint.

Red, yellow, and blue smeared and dripped. The colors provided contrast to the gray world which surrounded Alaina. And to the ash-gray makeup she wore.

Her country had outlawed color long ago. Only approved shades like black, gray, white and red could be worn or painted. Red was allowed only with permission, and usually by The Authority.

Alaina glanced about. The paint had cost her 2K on the black market. If she were caught with it, The Authority would likely employ red.

Alaina’s protest stood stark on the wall. They had forced her to hide her color. She would force them to face it.

A strange howl sounded in the distance. Alaina left the paint cans and hurried away. There were no fingerprints to leave behind. Alaina didn’t have any.

She hurried along, hooded head down. When the howls drifted into the distance, she slowed. Another painting caught her eye.

This was not her work, but it was her face. Her face, in color, without the gray mask.

She glanced about, a thrill of fear racing through her. Someone had seen her. Someone knew what she’d done. Only one knew her true face. He had gushed red long ago.

Alaina rushed through the streets, keeping to the shadows. The howl sounded again. Closer. Could the Wolfborn have caught her scent? She’d been so careful.

She hurried through the maze of streets. Padded footsteps sounded to the left and then the right. She glanced in the latter direction and glimpsed the slim shadow of the genetically engineered beast at her side. Its eyes glowed.

The Wolfborn, far worse than the humans who served The Authority, had been given carte blanche regarding the color red. They were an abomination, a cross between human and wolf.

Alaina broke into a run and the Wolfborn followed.

She was a few yards from the door when they caught her. The creature on the left drove her to the ground and the others surrounded her, five in all.

Alaina waited for the jaws which tore flesh and crushed bone. Instead, the tinny sound of a paint can hitting pavement filled the air.

Trembling, she glanced up at the beast before her. It dipped its fingers in what remained of the color and traced symbols on the concrete.

She read her own name as it helped her to her feet.

The others bowed before her.

“Alaina,” they intoned, deep and guttural.

Only one, the one who’d lifted her, remained standing. She noted the deep scar across his wolf-like face and the eye she knew too well.

“Martin?” she whispered.

The Wolfborn bent, retrieved the paint can, and passed it to her.

“You…paint…” he said. “We…protect.”

.

Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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Available on Amazon!

 

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