Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Bailey Hunter @DarkRecesses @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 28, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Voices No More
by Bailey Hunter

I remain here, trapped without end.  These halls that scream and cry out a history that has gone unspoken hold me close. I am their last spark of remembrance. I am their voice.
As I wander through cold chambers I recall the days when those rooms were full of broken souls. Thrust into darkness for their sins of madness and poverty. I still smell the acrid stench of human suffering, drowning in piss and vomit. I recall with absolute clarity each lash I laid down, each abuse I thrust upon them. I did not understand then, as I do now.
The knowledge of centuries has turned my mind, and opened the secrets held there.
I try desperately to share what I have learned with those who dare venture into this place seeking the thrill of an unbelieved threat. I besiege them with the memories I cannot escape from. I fill their nostrils with the fetid truths I bathe in, and still they do not see. I fear I too will become nothing more than cold wind upon their cheek, a shiver down their spine.
Another brightly clad group clamours through the dust and fallen stones and I call out to them. I pull together all my strength, drawing in every darkness and horror to share and be known. They walk on, laughing, pulling their new world cloaks tighter as a barrier against the pain.
My voice is lost. I am lost. A child’s ghost story of a forgotten place and time.
Fiction © Copyright Bailey Hunter
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More about Bailey Hunter:
Bailey is a publisher with Dark Recesses Press.


Dark Recesses Press is a publishing house dedicated to providing high quality dark fiction in its many forms to the reader. Our end goal is to impress and entertain, no matter what dark recesses we dare shine our light on.

DarkRecessesPress.com

 
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 28, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Baited Breath
by Angela Yuriko Smith

Coming upon her was like falling into a dream.
One minute he was sneaking through the reeds, hunting waterfowl. The next moment he emerged to see a part of a woman laying across a log.
She was an optical illusion, her upper half languidly sprawled across the rotted wood. Her eyes were half closed, sensuously, and she was smiling. A hand slid up her pale stomach to cup her breast and with the other, she combed her fingers through her wet hair. She was sunning herself after a swim.
Her lower half was the part that confused him. Slick, black scales had swallowed her up to her hips. He stood trying to make sense of it, her lack of concern at her obvious peril stunned him to inaction.
He stood up straight in the reeds to get a better view and her eyes snapped open. Twin emerald beacons, the color of algae in the afternoon sun, pierced him before she flipped off the log and vanished beneath the murky surface. All of her was gone, the woman half and the… rest.
“Hey,” he called out in a hushed voice. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Do you need help?”
The stagnant water was still long enough that he began to think the whole thing was a trick of the marsh and he let himself relax. He walked partially into the water, protected by his tough canvas waders, to look at the log.
Then there she was, peeping up from the other side of the slick wood. Her brilliant eyes took him in, unafraid and curious. Her face was pale, like new milk, and framed in the tangled fingers of her dark hair. Bits of leaf and branch entwined with the tendrils, giving her the look of a forest creature from a book.
“Are you okay?” His voice quivered, hesitant to frighten her away. She blinked at him, bit her pale lip and moved around the log, to approach him. She moved with the water and it slid off her skin, swirling around her like a living thing.
“There you go. I’m friendly…” He held out his hands to her, palm up. He didn’t know what exactly he was looking at, and he didn’t care. All he could take in was her glistening nakedness, the glowing green of her eyes and the dark hair that trailed behind her in the water like a dark bridal veil.
He held his hands out. She paused, almost within touching distance, and gave him a coy look. She was close enough that he could see the tiny drops that clung to her lashes. Her lips parted and a row of bone white teeth peeked from her slim smile. He waggled his fingers out, as if to a small animal.
“C’mon… almost there. I’ll help you.”
Then she was in his embrace, slipping between his outstretched arms to slide against his rough flannel jacket. A rush of heat flickered up from the soles of his feet, boiling his insides and his throat went dry. He had expected her to be afraid and hesitant.
“That’s right,” he whispered into her wet hair. She was all over him, arms slipping up around his neck, mouth nuzzling him. Her body coiled around his legs and she started pulling him down into the water with her.
“Now hold on… I got a truck parked just up the way if you’re getting any ideas.” He was panting, eyes glazing as the blood fled his mind to attend to more urgent matters. He fell into the water with her, throwing out a hand to catch himself but there was nothing but water and reeds.
He went down, slipping in the deep mud and tried to right himself. The current was working with her, pulling him deeper as she pinned his arms with her embrace. He opened his eyes and struggled to see in the water, tinted tea brown from the cedar roots that drank there.
A flash of white skin and a glimmer of sharp teeth too close to his face caused him to kick out reflexively and for an instant he was free floating, twisting in the water, seeking surface. One hand broke the surface, a final grasp at light and life, then a shadow slid around him, coiling around his neck, pulling him to darkness.
A Sandhill Crane screamed and took wing before silence settled over the marsh. A few air bubbles escaped as some creature burrowed into the mud below and then all was still as the marsh returned to waiting.
Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

End of Mae

Mae was small town newspaper reporter with bigger dreams. Her life’s passion was to find the ultimate story. When the local homeless start vanishing, her community puts the blame on the Jersey Devil legend. Excited at the prospect of finally uncovering a big story, she spends the night in the woods with a homeless woman. Mae discovers that the whispers are true — there is something sinister wandering the Whitebog area at night. Little did she know that the ultimate story would be her own… and she’d by dying to tell it.

Available on Amazon!

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Mary Ann Peden-Coviello @MAPedenCoviello @Sotet_Angyal #LoH

Posted on March 27, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Child’s Play
by Mary Ann Peden-Coviello

I can hear them, downstairs. They’re giggling. Who’d have thought the sound of three giggling kids would frighten me to the point of nausea?
It’s my own fault, I guess. When I took this babysitting gig, Mrs. Donovan told me not to fall asleep before she and Mr. Donovan got home. I thought she was being overprotective, you know. One of those helicopter parents.
After I fed the kids their supper, I did a little homework while they watched TV. The new puppy was sleeping in its basket by the gas fireplace. My stupid English homework – I mean, who needs to diagram sentences in the real world? – put me to sleep, too.
The puppy’s shrieks woke me up. The oldest kid, Gregory, who’s only eight, was holding the pup in the fireplace – gas fire burning – with a poker through its little collar. I jumped up and yelled, “Gregory Donovan, you stop that!” just as the puppy went silent and fell limply onto the fake logs.
The three kids – Gregory, Olivia, and William – turned to face me. Gregory still held the poker in his fist. Identical cold smiles curved the lips on three little faces.
Gregory said, “We don’t like you, Addie. You don’t play games with us. Bippy didn’t play nice. He bit Livvy.” Olivia showed me a perfectly unmarked arm. “So we punished him. Now it’s your turn.” Gregory raised the poker.
I didn’t wait to see what he had in mind. I ran up the stairs to the Donovans’ bedroom, locked the door, and then dragged the dresser in front of it.
And here I am, hunkered down behind the barricade, listening to the kids. I hear them on the stairs, whispering. Their parents aren’t due home for two more hours. Maybe Mrs. Donovan wasn’t protecting the kids. Maybe she was trying to protect me.
Do I smell smoke? Oh, God. They’ve set fire to the door. Smoke curls under the dresser, the acrid stench burning my nose.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t move the dresser. They’ll get in. I can’t not move the dresser. They’ll burn me out.
The window. I raise it and climb out onto the roof. My feet scrabble on the shingles. I hang over the edge and drop to the ground. The fall isn’t far, but landing is a shock. Pain shoots through my legs. But I’m safe.
When I turn around, Gregory waits for me, Olivia and William standing behind him, grinning.
“Mama!” I cry in the moment before the poker connects with my temple.
Fiction © Copyright Mary Ann Peden-Coviello
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Mary Ann Peden-Coviello:

maryannpedencoviello_frightmareFright Mare-Women Write Horror
Short Story: One Hour Before the Dark

Women write horror and have written it since before Mary Shelley wrote FRANKENSTEIN. This anthology is to highlight the fact women write great horror and to kill the fallacy that they aren’t in some way up to standard. They are. Read here stories by Elizabeth Massie, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Lucy Taylor, and a plethora of other great writers as they work on your nerves, get inside your head, and bang out some of the scariest tales written today. I’m proud to present these women for your consideration, as Rod Serling might say, as I ask you to step into FRIGHT MARE. Lock the door and windows, put on a light, and remember, it’s not real. It’s not real. Midnight awaits, monsters scheme to take you away, the strange and weird wait in the shadows, but it’s not real. Is it?

Edited by Billie Sue Mosiman, the author who brought you the SINISTER-TALES OF DREAD collections and her latest suspense novel, THE GREY MATTER.

Available on Amazon!

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

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

Posted on March 27, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Last Transmission
by A.F. Stewart

The blurred images flickered repeatedly on the screen of a broken television, accompanied by the sound of static. The strange buzz of it echoed in the dilapidated room and settled around the decaying skeleton slumped in the chair by the grimy window.
The lone occupant of the room, the hollow sockets in its bony skull seemed to stare back at the moving shapes on the TV. As if it watched the picture, watched the distorted figure with its hand pressed against the cracked screen, and the other tiny, smiling face of white. As if it knew them.
As if it remembered.
Remembered the day the world ended. The day those tiny white faces appeared on all the TV screens, on the phones, the tablets, the computers. When the voices whispered: “Come play with us.” Perhaps its bones do recall something, or perhaps it stares in a macabre jest of its last moment of life. The moment before the human race died.
Before humanity became ghosts inside the machines.
Fiction © Copyright A.F. Stewart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from A.F. Stewart:

In the shadows—voices.
Calling, screaming, moaning.
Countless tongues telling tales…
of Hell
of Monsters
and Unnatural Things

Come chase the dark words, fall into the spell of terror and sit with the poetic weaver as you watch the world burn. Horror Haiku Pas de Deux is a volume of poetry mixing horror with haiku and verse to chill your bones.
Poetic beauty lives forever with the undead.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 26, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Underwater We Breathe
by Suzanne Madron

Somewhere in the haunted halls of the old house Ted could hear her talking. Her voice was low, and her laugh was even quieter as he approached the crack of light streaming through the partially open door.
The floorboards creaked beneath his feet and he swore to himself. Her voice stopped abruptly and he sighed. He had hoped to catch her this time.
“Ted?”
He retreated down the hallway until he reached their nearly empty shared office. Feeling only a slight pang of guilt, he sat in a chair and pretended to read as Nancy shuffled down the hallway.
“Ted?”
“In here!” he called out.
She entered the library and cocked her head to the side, one hand planted on her hip. “Were you just outside the bedroom?”
He forced a confused smile. “No, why?”
Nancy ran a hand through her hair. “I thought I heard you outside the door. Must be the ghost, I guess.” She smirked and shook her head at their once-beloved inside joke. It had been years since the joke had been funny, however.
“Guess so.”
When she turned to leave he stopped her. He could no longer run from his fears.
“Who were you talking to?”
“You were outside the bedroom!” she accused.
“Fine, yes. It was me.”
“I was talking to the men who came to visit. Did you know – ”
Jealousy blazed in his chest and he threw his book aside, cutting her off. “You invited them into our home? How could you?”
Nancy sighed and grappled with her hair as it haloed around her head, escaped from its bun. “Theodore. They’re listening now. They finally hear us. Come with me, we can talk to them together.”
He sighed and got to his feet. He followed her down the hallway to the door to their bedroom and stopped. Inside the room the light filtered through from above, where the wall of their house had been partially destroyed. The room was a shambles, with broken wood and glass littering the floor along with silt and seaweed from when the entire house had slid from its pilings and fallen into the ocean during a hurricane.
Over the bed hovered men in dark, tight suits with canisters strapped to their backs. Every few seconds bubbles burst forth from the masks the men wore and surged upward, toward the broken ceiling.
Ted stared at the bed, at the long-decayed corpses picked clean by time and the creatures of the tide. The skeletal hands of the couple were entwined, though he knew it was by chance and not design. Nancy came up next to him and slid her hand in his, pulling him toward the equipment the divers had set up in the bedroom.
She turned to him and with a mischievous grin, she set off the motion sensors and screamed into the underwater microphone.
Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Suzanne Madron:

For Sale or Rent

The house across the street seems to go on the market every few months, but this time nothing about the sale is normal, including the new owners. No sooner has the for sale sign come down and the neighborhood is thrown into a Lovecraftian nightmare and the only way to find out is to attend the house warming party.

 

Available on Amazon!

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kim Richards @Kim_Richards @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 26, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Stone Hand
by Kim Richards

“Momma! Momma!” Angelie shouted as she darted inside through the back kitchen door. She skidded to a halt, holding her side as she caught her breath.
After a moment, she straightened and wiped a few stray hair strands out of her eyes. Then she stepped forward and tugged on her mother’s apron. “Momma.”
Her momma was a pale woman; thin as bones. Her height towered over the rest of her relatives, even the men, and forced her to hunch over as she did now while slicing apples on the kitchen counter.
“Don’t bother me, girl unless you want me to put you to work,” she said. “Go out and play.”
“I was playing when I saw a hand in the lake over near the old wooden bridge.”
The woman’s hand holding the paring knife, paused. “There’s no hand in the lake. Damn your imagination.”
“Is too,” Angelie put her hands on her small hips. “It’s grey and sticks up like it wants me to grab it.”
Her mother dropped the knife and spun around. She grabbed the girl by the shoulders, lifting her a few inches above the wooden floor.
“Stay out of that lake; you hear me? The water is poisonous. Say you did see a hand in the lake. Then it belongs to a dead man. You want to be dead too?”
Eyes wide, Angelie whispered, “No.”
“Good, now scoot. Go see if the hens left us any eggs.”
The woman watched her little girl shuffle out the kitchen door without a word. She knew about the hand in the lake and cursed the recent drought that revealed the thing.  She was there when the man was sentenced and watched as he turned to stone. She stood on the bridge over the murky lake as he was thrown in.
“Evil bastard,” she muttered and then returned to slicing her apples.
Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Pixabay.

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

Posted on March 25, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The House on the Hill
by Rie Sheridan Rose

“See? Whaddid I tell ya?” Petey whispered, handing me the binoculars, and pointing into the darkness.
I looked through the eyepieces. It was hard to focus them at night, but the full moon helped a bit. I wished it was after my birthday, because my uncle Tom was getting me a pair of night-vision goggles from the surplus store…but that was months away. We had to make do.
And I could see a light on in the old Scarborough house—even though it had been abandoned before I was born. It shown through the branches of the big old oak that stood alongside the house—naked in the January evening.
“Should we check it out?” asked Petey eagerly. That boy was scared of nothing…not bright enough to be, I always guessed…
I hesitated. It was tempting…on the other hand, I did have a healthy dose of caution bred into my bones.
The flickering quality of the light from the house decided me. Probably just some tramp or something, but it looked like they had an open candle or lantern up there—maybe even a fire. That was dangerous. They could burn the house down. As an Eagle Scout, I had a responsibility to deal with this.
“Okay. But stay behind me, and don’t say anything stupid if there really is someone up there.”
Petey stowed the binoculars in his backpack, and we started up the hill.
The Scarborough house had been a showplace once upon a long time ago. It was two full stories and some crazy attic thing tall.
The light came from the front room in the far righthand corner of the house, as you faced out the window. I dunno why that’s important, but I noticed details like that about buildings. I hoped to be an architect one day.
Inside, the house was pretty trashed. Beer bottles and fast food wrappers were everywhere on the bottom floor—and it smelled like someone had peed in the corner.
We hurried upstairs as quickly as we could.
On the second floor, there was a weird smell of jasmine—my mom is a florist, so I recognize a lot of flower scents. It was better than the piss downstairs, at least.
The light spilled out of the far room to paint the floor with a flickering gold pattern. As dry as the wood was, I was more determined than ever to get rid of that flame.
We crept forward, my hand clutching my heavy flashlight—just in case. Petey had his phone out. Dunno what good that was supposed to do. Everybody knows that the hill is a dead zone for cell service. Then, I glanced over and saw that he had the camera up. Documentation, I guess.
Cautiously poking my head around the jamb of the door, I saw a girl about my age sitting in front of the fireplace, rocking back and forth on the floor in a white nightgown. I could see the vague outline of her body as the fire shone through the gown. That was kinda embarrassing.
Debating what to do, I was stumped. She shouldn’t be in here. Especially not at night, with a fire going.
“Look, Miss—” I started to say.
She turned to us then, and her eyes were black holes in the center of her face. Her mouth opened, and a scream pierced the night.
I felt it begin to dissolve my very bones.
“Get out of here!” I ordered Petey, and he decided to be sensible for once—turning and running down the hall.
His phone fell out of his hand about halfway to the stairs. That was a good thing. It allowed me to record this story. When I am done, I’ll toss it out the window into the grass. Maybe someday, someone will find it, and it will collaborate Petey’s story.
I hope they don’t lock him up for telling it. It’s the truth, after all.
We found a hell-ghost in the house on the hill. She was lonely…so she made a mate.
Guess I’ll never be that architect…
Best thing anyone could do is burn this cursed place to the ground. Maybe then, we can rest…but no matter what—stay away from the house on the hill…
Billy Prescott…deceased.
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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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!

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Julianne Snow @CdnZmbiRytr @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 25, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Face on the TV
by Julianne Snow

Most people see her first—their attention drawn in by the blurry face, the hands pressed against the glass. It’s a sad image, a scary vision, but what do I know when it comes to the terror of others?
I know a lot actually, but it’s my face no one looks at. My fractured frown beneath vacant eyes that everyone tends to miss, but I hold my own vigil; waiting, watching, always at the ready.
They’re scared at the sight of the woman trapped, but they should be frightened of me as I’m the one who put her there. I’m the Face on the TV and I’m always watching.
Fiction © Copyright Julianne Snow
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Julianne Snow:

JulianneSnow_TheDeadOfPenderghastManorThe Dead of Penderghast Manor

What would you do if you knew the Dead could talk?

For Chester Penderghast, it’s not the easiest of questions to answer…

Ensconced in the basement of his family’s mortuary business is the last place he wants to be, but when the conversation starts flowing, Chester’s the only living person who can hear it. What do the Dead want, and why is he the only one who can hear them?

This is not your average zombie tale—the Dead don’t want to eat your brains, but they will chew your ear off!

Available on Amazon!

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

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

Posted on March 24, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Best Not to Know
K.R. Morrison

It all started to go south the moment Lucretia made a misstep and fell through the floor.
Before that, it had been simply your basic paranormal hunt—the same thing we had all been through every week for three years. The viewing audience lapped it up, so we happily kept on going. None of us believed in any of it, but we’d always made a show of fear and apprehension so that we could continue earning the viewing dollar.
This time around, we’d been assigned by our producer to investigate a long-dead cult, and the building that it had housed itself in. No big deal; in fact, some of us had spent time here as youths, swimming in their indoor pool and ignoring the propaganda posted on the bulletin boards that lined the hallways.
None of us knew of the secrets here—until Lucretia fell through the floor. None of us wanted to know of them afterward either.
“Holy…”
We could barely hear her voice, but we could tell that she was awe-struck.
Then—
“Camera!!”
The imperious command reverberated through the hallway above where she’d disappeared, compelling us to move into action.
Dan lowered a camera into the hole. “You okay?” he hollered. “You need us to come down there?”
A pause, and then: “Not yet. I’m going to…”
Lucretia let out a gasp, and then uttered, “What the hell…?”
We heard something like a strong wind reverberating through the place, then a shriek.
It was the silence that followed that caused us all to go into a panic. Lucretia always shrieked—it was the hallmark of our TV show. The silence was what was jarringly different.
Dan hollered into the hole. “Lucretia! Everything okay?”
No answer.
Not a word between us, but it was decided—we were not about to go down there. Lucretia or not, we had families that depended on us. Lucretia was not our favorite flavor anyway, and never had been. Our own skins were far more important.
Dan pulled the camera out of the hole without any effort at all. He raised his eyebrows to us, and we all decided right then and there that we had made the right decision in not following her down there.
The footage we viewed from that camera made us all believers. Some of us quit the show right there and then. What we saw frightened us all beyond telling.
I can tell you this much. The footage revealed a prison, the bars of the cells gaping open. However, I doubt that any prisoners may have escaped, although it is hard to say. So much of what we saw was warped, the bricks curved and wavering beyond any law of physics. The concave areas looked as if something had taken a bite from the very masonry.
This in itself would have been fascinating; however, what we saw above and beyond that was what kept this particular show from ever being seen. In fact, I may be terminated by even letting you see this.
Fact is, that very human maw, which enveloped and swallowed Lucretia whole, was a scene that no one was ever supposed to know about. We saw it happen—if Lucretia had not dropped the camera, it may have followed her into whatever hell she was sucked into.
The building has been torn down now, and the land sits vacant. No one but our camera crew knows about what lies beneath the surface. Plans for erecting new buildings on the site never come to fruition—no one can step foot on the property for long.
Not long ago, our group was approached by someone wanting us to do a follow-up, since the first investigation had never been conclusive. We turned them down.
Funny thing though—no one ever asks about Lucretia. It’s as if she had never existed.
Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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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!

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

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

Posted on March 24, 2018 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Vengence
by Kathleen McCluskey

The moonlight had been muted by passing clouds as the lone hand began to breach the muddy waters of the marsh. No sound was audible except for the sucking sound coming from the mud. It had lain there undisturbed since this time last year. The beasts, insects and fowl all knew the anniversary was upon them and fled. Slowly the blackened hand emerged from the marsh. Elevating up out of the peat and earth was a creature that was once a man. The wounds suffered in his callous murder had deteriorated over time. The bullet hole in his head had blackened with the passing of another year. This would be the year that vengeance would finally be his.
He staggered out onto the bank and looked at his hands. The hands that had built an empire were now black with decay. Looking over the gate he saw his former palatial estate. A lone tear rolled down his withering face. He pushed the gate forward and lurched toward the house.
He peered through the large picture window, he could see his once loyal wife and ex-partner standing in a soft embrace. The candles on the bureau made their shadows dance on the walls. He knew that they were the perpetrators of his demise and vowed to make them pay. He walked around to the front of the house and entered his plush home.
He walked into a dimly lit room, the only illumination was from scores of candles. He turned his decaying head and his neck made grotesque cracking noises. He scrutinized the floor below, he had walked onto a pentagram. His wife and old partner both smiled as the voodoo priestess began her chant. He was entranced, he had no choice but to return to the swamp. He lowered himself back into the mire. His hand was the last to be drawn down into the blackness destined to attempt his revenge year after year.
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.

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