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

Posted on November 25, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Evensong
by Ela Lourenco

I close my eyes, lulled into the peaceful state of waking sleep by the gentle tapping of the ancient lock against the door in the night’s whispering warm breeze.
I rock in the wooden chair passed down generations of my family, handcrafted by the great grandfather I was named after: Henry. I swing slowly to and fro as I have done for many a year, the creak of my special chair the orchestra accompanying the sweetest of voices. Little voices, singing as one… voices which have not yet lost the purity of innocence and childhood dreams. They usually fill me with a tranquillity unlike any other, but lately their chant is growing softer. Soon, I will barely be able to hear them.
I loathe to go into the noisy world outside my cabin but wearily I get up. Needs must, I think, as I stroke the little bodies huddled on the soft pink rug on the floor. It is time for me to add to my little choir of angels…
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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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lori Safranek @SafranekLori @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on November 25, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Radiator Rage
by Lori Safranek

Calvin swore if this didn’t put some money in his pocket, he’d kick Denny’s ass up into his shoulder blades.
“We’re there,” Denny said, stopping so abruptly that Calvin ran into his back. Calvin gave him a push.
“Stupid, warn me when you’re gonna stop,” he growled.
“Anyway, we’re here. It’s right over there,” Denny said, pointing to the object of their night’s work.
The flashlight beam lit up a rusty, heavy looking heat radiator. If they could get it out of here, Calvin knew they’d make a pretty penny selling the huge piece of iron.
“How old’s that thing?” Steve asked. It would take all of them to drag the heavy iron radiator out of the building.
“No idea, but I remember my Grandma had something like it when I was a kid,” Denny said.
“You think we can get it out?” their friend, Steve, asked.
Calvin grabbed the flashlight out of Denny’s hand and walked up to the radiator. It was solid, for sure. They may have bitten off more than they could chew, he thought. He moved the flashlight beam over the length of the radiator, and squatted down to look under it.
The heat coming off of it felt good after the long cold trek to the vacant building.
“Hey, how’s this thing hooked up?”
“It’s not hooked up, man, this building’s empty.” Denny’s voice echoed. He shuffled a little closer. “No electricity or gas, no water, nothing.”
“Well, there’s heat coming off of it, dummy, so it’s hooked up somehow,” Calvin said.
“No way, man,” Denny crouched down beside him and looked under the register. He stood and moved to the other side of the radiator.
“Dude, there is no hookup. I can’t find anything,” he said.
Calvin sighed. He should have known better than to do business with this idiot.
“I thought you looked this over. You didn’t notice it’s putting out heat?”
“Cal, I don’t feel any heat. Maybe you’re having a hot flash,” Denny said, laughing a little. Calvin thought he might punch him.
Calvin stood.
“Let’s tip it over and see if we can figure it out,” he said.
The three men put on heavy work gloves they’d brought along.
“It looks too heavy for us,” Steve said, moving into position. “I guess tipping it will give us some idea if we can carry it out.”
They bent at the knee and each grabbed a section of the radiator. With howls of pain, Calvin jumped away from the hunk of iron shaking his hands to cool them off.
The other men stared at him, eyes wide, still gripping the radiator. How could they hold onto that thing? They must have better gloves than he had.
“I about burned my hands off,” he grumbled as he moved back into position. He grabbed the radiator again.
It took a minute for the pain to really hit him. By then, his gloves had melted away. His palms were stuck to the iron.  His screams had startled Denny and Steve and they’d moved away.
He pulled and pulled but his hands were stuck to the radiator and now he felt like he was being pulled forward. His forearms were touching the hot iron, his screams ignited again. His friends grabbed him around his stomach and tried to pull him away from the radiator but he was stuck.
Denny yelled at Steve to let go of Calvin when he saw the man’s face moving closer and closer to the hunk of metal they’d planned to steal.
“Let him go, man,” he shouted. “He’ll pull us in, too.”
Steve stumbled back, and that seemed to be all Calvin needed. His arms collapsed and his legs moved him forward. His face hit the radiator and the front of his body was in complete contact with the scorching metal.
The screams had stopped, but Calvin’s body continued to jerk against the radiator. Denny leaned over and lost every bite of food he’d eaten that day.
All that remained was a blackened skeleton, leaning against the rusted radiator. The smell in the air gagged both men and tears ran down their faces from the smoke, the stink and their fear.
They flattened themselves against a rusty piece of metal leaning against the basement wall. It made a horribly loud clanging sound and they both jumped. Steve looked at Denny, his face pale and sweaty.
Denny looked back at the radiator. The bones were breaking now, snapping into pieces and falling to the ground as ashes. His stomach tumbled again, but he managed to not vomit this time.
He turned to Steve and nodded his head toward the exit.
“Go,” he said, voice raspy and desperate. “He’s gone. Let’s go.”
Steve hurried to leave and stumbled on a piece of metal on the floor. With horror, Denny saw him falling right onto the radiator. He shouted at his friend to stop.
Steve’s hand grasped the cool iron and he avoided falling down. He stood up and looked at his own undamaged hand.
“What the hell, Denny?”
“Just go,” Denny said. He wasn’t smart anyway and this was something for minds greater than his. “Run. We need to run.”
Fiction © Copyright Lori Safranek
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Lori Safrenek:

lorisafranek_freakedoutFreaked Out: The Complete Freak Show Series

Freak Show is a collection of short stories based on the adventures of performers from Steiners Freak Show, a traveling circus side show. Steiner carefully selects his freaks so that they are genuinely blessed with real talents, none of his performers are fakes! From the lovely young Snake Charmer to the Tattooed Man whose tattoos fade away and relocate themselves on his body, every single one is the real thing! And Steiner’s family of freaks run into some frightening adventures that bring them near death! This isn’t some barker’s come on, folks, this is the real thing. Come to the freak show and see what happens after the sideshow closes!

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 Mary Ann Peden-Coviello @MAPedenCoviello @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on November 24, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Of Mice and Ghosts
by Mary Ann Peden-Coviello

A pack of feral boys had gathered on the front porch – hooligans who planned to invade the McNeil House. Old Lady McNeil had been found dead here over a half century before. She’d lain in the kitchen, undiscovered and unmourned, for six months decaying into a heap of bone and carrion flesh. Eventually, a curious neighbor had investigated. Her screams and hysterics had brought more attention than did Old Lady McNeil’s actual corpse.
Rumor had it that her ghost still walked these empty rooms. Occasionally, someone heard strange sounds coming from the old house, usually late at night. Sensible people avoided the dilapidated place like the health hazard it was.
The boys on the porch egged each other on, punching shoulders and grinning like gargoyles.
“Go on, you wuss. You said you wasn’t scared.”
“Shut up. I’m checkin’ crap out.”
“Yaaaah.”
“You go first, butthead. It was your idea anyway.”
Old Lady McNeil remained silent as the clichéd tomb while the boys ginned up their courage to cross from the porch into the house. She knew they would. She’d seen their type before. She recognized family resemblances from long-ago tormenters, others who’d entered her home and wreaked destruction. Anger rose within her, lending her insubstantial self the strength to become visible.
The redheaded, jug-earred ruffian shoved the fat one, who stumbled across the threshold. All the boys thundered in then and crashed through the house like a pack of destructive curs, rampaging and howling, breaking any knickknack that wasn’t already shattered into shards. The fat one tore down the last tattered bit of curtain in the parlor, laughing at the dust that swirled into the air.
All the time, she watched, unseen, silent, growing angrier, growing more powerful with her rising emotion.
“Hey, look! A mouse!” A howl of bloodlust erupted from a half dozen throats. A dozen boots stamped and stomped, chasing the terrified rodent through the dining room. It shrieked at a pitch too high for human ears to hear, but Old Lady McNeil heard.
“Get it!”
“Kill it!”
“Squash it!”
The vicious crew chased the tiny grey mouse into a corner. The ringleader raised a foot to crush the little animal.
Emmaline McNeil didn’t hesitate. Hundreds of generations of mice she’d known, played with, loved since the first ones had kept watch over her while she’d lain undiscovered and rotting on the floor in front of her stove.
She stood over the defenseless, cowering mouse and breathed a mist of cold fog into the faces of the rabid fiends who would end the harmless little life.
“What was that?”
“It’s the ghost!”
“Let’s get outta here!”
She flitted to the front door and slammed it in their faces.  Their screams inflamed her rage even more. She was so strong now. The sharp tang of urine rose from their jeans.
Assuming the rotten face she’d worn when she was finally discovered, she manifested fully.  “Brave nasty little boys, are you? Strong enough to crush ferocious mousies? How about me? Can you stand against the likes of me?” She raised spectral arms and swooped forward, wailing, her mouth twisted and distorted.
She chose the lug-earred redhead for special attention. She wrapped ghostly arms around him and plastered her rotting face against his. With a high-pitched giggle, she licked his cheek, drooling protoplasm down his chin. The unfortunate boy’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted dead away. The fat boy grabbed him by an arm and dragged him toward the front of the house. Emmaline McNeil allowed the terrified urchins to yank open the door. Reeking of terror and assorted bodily fluids, the boys fell through the entryway, onto the porch, and into the yard.
Old Lady McNeil put away the fearsome face and resumed her normal one.  The gentle rustling of mice accompanied her as she entered her dining room. The last unbroken piece of furniture in the house, her favorite dining chair, stood alone in its moldering glory. She settled in with the final newspaper delivered to the house so long ago. Too bad no one ever brought a new edition when they attempted to breach her defenses. She read yet again an article about Ike’s re-election, the happy mice playing at her feet.
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 , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

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

Posted on November 24, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Change
by Naching T. Kassa

Miss Pym had always dreaded menopause. She despised hot sweats, cold chills, and the other discomforts which accompanied it. Most of all, she feared the lack of control the hormonal shifts caused her.
One such shift occurred on a cold and windy day in November. She was seated in her classroom, watching the second graders as they worked on their math problems, when Jamie Morrison crept into the room. The boy was small and slight with a spray of freckles across his cheeks and straw-blonde hair. There were holes in his long-sleeved shirt and in his faded jeans.
“Jamie.”
The boy looked up, his face pale.
“Come here.”
Jamie shuffled up to her desk, his eyes on the floor.
“This is the third time you’ve been late this week. Is everything alright?”
“Yes, Miss Pym.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Look at me, Jamie.”
The boy looked up and when he did so, his neck became visible. A dark purple mark peeked above his collar, marring his pale skin.
The blood in Miss Pym’s veins grew scalding hot.
“Sorry, Miss Pym,” the boy said. “It was my fault. I woke up late.”
“What happened to your neck, Jamie?”
The boy’s eyes widened. He pulled his collar up, covering the bruise.
“I fell.”
“Again?”
“Yes. On the stairs outside our apartment.”
“You’ve been falling a lot lately.”
“My shoes are too big. I trip.”
“I think I’ll talk to your mother. Maybe, she could get you better shoes.”
“Please, don’t, Miss Pym. He’ll get m—I mean, she can’t afford it.”
Miss Pym raised an eyebrow. Trembling, Jamie averted his eyes.
“I see. Well, I guess you can return to your seat, then. The assignment is on your desk.”
Jamie nodded and hurried away. Miss Pym stared after him. Whether he liked it or not, she would contact his mother. She’d seen enough bruises. It was time to sort this out.
She reached down to open the desk drawer where she kept parent phone numbers and froze.
Her hand had changed. The fingers had grown several inches and long claws had sprouted from the tips. Soft, gray fur covered the top, and the palm had become a thick pad.
Miss Pym looked up. The students continued with their work. No one seemed to have noticed.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and shut her eyes. When she opened them, her hand had returned to its original human form.
“Damn, hormones,” she said under her breath. Of all things to lose control over. Why couldn’t she be like other women? Crying uncontrollably and swearing like a sailor was far preferable to this.
The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough. When it did, Miss Pym bade her students goodbye and settled down to grade papers before heading home.
A few minutes after three-thirty, a soft cough interrupted her work. She glanced up. Jamie stood in the doorway. Tears glistened in his eyes.
“Oh, Miss Pym,” he said. “Can you help me?”
She rose from her chair and hurried to his side.
“What is it, dear?”
“I had to go to the bathroom and I missed my bus.”
“Would you like to call your mother?”
“She’s at work. She can’t come and get me.”
“Who’s looking after you when you get home?”
“Jack Clegg. He’s my mom’s boyfriend.”
“Can you call J—“
Jamie shook his head. “He won’t come.”
“Would you like me to take you home?”
 “Yes, please.”
“Let’s go downstairs to my car. I’ll drive you.”
Moments later, Miss Pym found herself behind the wheel of her beige Subaru with Jamie in the back seat. Aside from giving directions to his apartment building, the boy didn’t speak. He bit his nails as he stared out the window.
When they pulled up outside a large brick tenement building and parked, Jamie opened the door and bolted from the car.
“Thank you, Miss Pym,” he called over his shoulder. Within seconds, he’d disappeared through the front door.
Miss Pym stepped out of the car to close the door and found a backpack lying on the seat. It was Jamie’s. She pulled it out of the car.
For a moment she held the bag, her eyes on the building. Before she could change her mind, she headed for the front entrance.
Miss Pym stepped through the unlocked door and into a dim and dirty hallway. Jamie had given her the second-floor apartment number.
The elevator was out of order. She would have to take the stairs. A long flight with a cherry-oak railing lay before her.
Muffled cries and the sound of an angry male voice suddenly sounded above her. She grasped hold of the railing and climbed.
Miss Pym didn’t notice the change in her hand. Her nails, now claws, scraped the wood as she moved and left a long gouge in her wake.
When she reached the door of apartment 2C, the shouting had stopped. Miss Pym realized the state of her hand only after she had knocked. When the door opened, she hid it behind her back.
A thin man stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, his face covered in acne.
“Whadda you want?” he said.
“Are you Jack Clegg?”
“Yeah.”
Miss Pym held up the backpack.
“This is Jamie’s. I’m his teacher.”
“He said he forgot it at school.”
“He left it in my car. I brought him home.”
The man held out his hand. Miss Pym kept the bag out of his reach.
“I’d like to give it to Jamie myself. I have something to tell him.”
“He’s in timeout. He can’t come to the door.”
“The boy didn’t mean to miss the bus. It was an honest mistake.”
“He should’ve called.”
“Still—“
“It’s none of your business, lady. Why don’t you give me the bag and leave?”
Miss Pym glanced over Clegg’s shoulder as the bathroom door opened behind him. Jamie stepped out, holding a washcloth. He dabbed at his bleeding lip before disappearing from view.
“You bastard,” Miss Pym whispered.
Clegg stepped out and closed the door behind him.
“Get lost. Or you’ll get some of the same.”
“You’ll never hurt him again.”
“What’re you gonna do? Call the cops? I got relatives on the force. They won’t believe you.”
Miss Pym trembled. Heat flashed over her body. Bones cracked and shifted.
“You’re the one they won’t believe,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Clawed hands lashed out and took him by the shoulders. She covered his mouth with one hairy paw as she dragged him down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she gave voice to an earth-shattering howl.
When Miss Pym returned to human form twenty minutes later, Jack Clegg lay in the alley before her. His right arm lay five feet away. His left arm was three. She shook her head as she hurried to her car.
She’d meant to beat him up, give him a few bruises, and put a scare into him.
Damn Hormones.
Well, at least Clegg wouldn’t hurt Jamie.
He’d never hurt him again.
Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Naching T. Kassa:

nachingtkassa_jackolanternJack O’ Lanterns
Short Story Inclusion:
The Devil and Molly Kavanagh

Halloween, every horror writer’s favourite festival and every reader’s wish that the writers find something new to say about it. . . look no further than this startling new collection of Halloween Horror! From the first very nasty little story to the final lengthy one outlining the history of the pumpkin, there is horror entertainment all the way. Enjoy!

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 Melissa R. Mendelson @melissmendelson @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on November 23, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The East End
by Melissa R. Mendelson

It was supposed to be a great night.  Maybe, even the best night of my life.  I was dressed to kill; only this head cold was killing me. But I still threw on my dancing shoes and popped some cold pills.  I was ready to go.
The East End was hopping.  The beat was pulsing.  The lights were flashing.  I remember taking a seat at a table in the corner, leaning back against the wall, letting the music sink in.  And the drinks too, then everything faded to black.
As I came to, the room was dim, what light there was made my head ache.  The beat was still thumping as hard as my knees were knocking.  My body was cold, my mind silent.  I stumbled from the chair heading toward a nearby bathroom.  Something was wrong. When I got there, I rushed into a stall and puked my brains out.  As I clung to the porcelain, trying to force my thoughts to unscramble, I heard two women near the sink.  They were talking about me, about what he did to me, and they were laughing as if it were some kind of joke.  I wasn’t laughing, my head was swimming, more than anything, I wanted them to leave.  But they took forever, chewing over the worst moment of my life.
Something inside me broke.  It was razor sharp; angry.  It rose into my throat, daring me to swallow it back down, but I couldn’t.  Instead, I opened my mouth and screamed.  I screamed so hard that the bathroom mirror shattered, the lights exploded, and thunder slammed through the small room.  I opened the stall door and found the two women on the floor staring at me as blood and gray matter gushed from their ears. I opened the bathroom door to discover a horrific display of bodies piled on top of bodies, and all their heads were turned my way. But I never wanted to kill any of them. I just wanted to have a good night, and he destroyed that. He destroyed me.
 Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Melissa R. Mendelson:

Please visit the following link for a short story ready by WildSound of Give Me Truth or Give Me Silence by Melissa R. Mendelson. Performed by Laura Kyswaty.

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lydia Prime @LydiaPrime @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on November 23, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Dred End
by Lydia Prime

I’ve sat alone for hours, waiting, mostly wasting;
Decomposing slowly in my fleshy mortal casing.
Thoughts still feel as if they drum against my skull,
Not as if it matters as my existence is now null.
I sulk in solemn silence and feel my essence drain;
I haven’t breathed in hours, but I do still feel the pain.
Ironic now, I see it, the crumbling red walls –
The darkness engulfs my body and I hear the Reaper’s calls.
A fire burned inside me, my skin now icy cold;
My memories and secrets; apologies untold.
To my left the rusted register, that once burned as hot as me;
Now frozen in oblivion; strange though, my empathy.
Empathy for something that never felt the fall.
Empathy for something that’s never had it all.
Empathy… or envy? I’m not entirely sure;
Envy seems more likely – envious to my core.
The rats scurry toward my prison – pit pat pit pat pit pat;
Ready to feast upon my carcass, whose pulse has fallen flat.
The floor crumbles away beneath them, decompositional mayhem,
Forsaken and condemned –
The finality is sinking in, the inevitable dead end.
This abandoned land consumes all sickly broken strays,
Enticed by that vacant shell, hiding all its hidden decays.
Now we’re brought together, never again alone;
Forever we will rest, a pile of picked-clean bones.
Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Lydia Prime:

Lydia grew up in a small, ‘Mayberry,’ sort of town, in New Jersey. She thoroughly enjoys gummy bears and laughing through the darkest depths of life. More often than not, she writes about demons and monsters, however, being a recovering addict tends to turn inner demons into fearsome foes to be fought beyond the constraints of the mind. ‘Sometimes,’ she states, ‘what’s inside, is scarier than anything reality throws at you.’

Please visit Lydia on Facebook for more info. 

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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 Selah Janel @SelahJanel @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on November 22, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Put to Bed
by Selah Janel

“There’s nothing to be afraid of!” he laughed and swung his flashlight beam over the old, dilapidated interior. “Just old rooms in an old building. Come on, this is supposed to be fun!”
“Really not my idea of a date, Brian,” she grumbled, one arm curled tightly around her chest, the other brandishing her flashlight like it was the only thing keeping her sane in a strange world.
He grinned, and it was somewhat knowing, and somewhat amused. That grin alone guaranteed that it was the first and last time they’d be going out. “C’mon, Shelly, you said you wanted an adventure, something different than the same ol’ same ol!”
She followed close behind him through the halls of peeling paint and dangling wire, tracing the detail with a dusty trail of light. “And you jumped right to breaking and entering.” The flashlight’s glow seemed to push away the dark as little as possible, as if the darkness itself was part of the building and was pissed off at being infiltrated. If our lights go out, the darkness will come for us. It was a horrible, intrusive thought, but Shelly couldn’t deny that it felt all too correct.
“C’mon, let’s see what’s in here. And it’s not breaking and entering, this ol’ place has been deserted forever! Everyone at school comes here at some point.”
“What was it, anyway, before it was just creepy?”
“Newspaper offices. Shut down in the seventies.”
“It went out of business?”
“Nah, people say everyone just stopped coming to work one day. Or they just disappeared. No one really knows, there are all sorts of urban legends.”
“Let’s get out of here, Brian, please.” She could have sworn there were things in the shadows, things that waited and watched, like reporters ready to take down their every move.
“Hey, look over here!” He pulled away, leaving her swaying on her too-tall shoes.
He could’ve at least told me what he had planned! Not everything has to be a surprise! She was half-amazed she’d made it this far as it was. If the building had been in any worse shape, she likely couldn’t have done it in a skirt and her heels.
“Shell, look!” She followed his voice to the far wall where countless front pages and articles were hung up, yellowed with age and framed. “Look at all these headlines!”
“Yeah, great.” Her legs ached and she had to fight the urge to run with every breath she took. She started at a shape against the opposite wall. Just a chair. Nothing weird there. “Brian, I’ve gotta sit down for a sec.”
“You sure? Everything’s probably covered with toxic mold or shit,” he teased, still transfixed on all the headlines of the past. “Seriously, Shell, this is amazing. The Titanic sinking, the end of World War II, Kennedy’s assassination, Martin Luther King…I bet these are worth a fortune. I wonder if we can get them off the wall.”
She rolled her eyes. The flashlight beam cast odd shadows of the chair against the wall, revealing peeling wallpaper and crumbling plaster, and the remains of an old desk on the floor. It was an old-fashioned chair, and didn’t look comfortable, but it looked like it could hold weight. What struck her as odd, though, was the newspaper draped on its seat.
“Brian, are you sure they went out of business in the seventies?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I think someone else is here. There’s a paper over here, and it looks brand new.”
“Now who’s being weird?”
“Brian, I’m serious! This looks like it was printed yesterday!”
“People still read papers?” he laughed.
She ignored him and leaned over the crisp paper and vivid ink. Something deep in her wanted to run, wanted to get out of there now, but also had to know. She focused the light and felt her stomach drop. “Brian,” she whispered.
“Alright, alright, what? What’s the big deal?” he sighed and carefully made his way over to her, aiming his beam over her shoulder. “What is it?” he repeated, then went silent when his eyes focused on the lead headline.
Two Local Teens Die in Abandoned Gazette Offices, No Cause of Death Known.
 “Look at the pictures,” she whispered, and pointed to the two photos used to identify the victims. They were grainy, but it was most certainly them.
“What the hell?” Brian demanded. “Is this some sort of joke?”
“It’s dated tomorrow.” Shelly had just choked the words out when both flashlight beams extinguished at once and the whole world went black.
Fiction © Copyright Selah Janel
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Selah Janel:

Mooner

Like many young men at the end of the 1800s, Bill signed on to work in a logging camp. The work is brutal, but it promised a fast paycheck with which he can start his life. Unfortunately, his role model is Big John. Not only is he the camp’s hero, but he’s known for spending his pay as fast as he makes it. On a cold Saturday night they enter Red’s Saloon to forget the work that takes the sweat and lives of so many men their age. Red may have plans for their whiskey money, but something else lurks in the shadows. It watches and badly wants a drink that has nothing to do with alcohol. Can Bill make it back out the shabby door, or does someone else have their own plans for his future?

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 Leah Lederman @leahbewriting @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on November 22, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Wooden Flower
by Leah Lederman

The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
A timbered whine expelled from the stairs at her first step. She hadn’t realized she’d taken it, and dread washed over her as she saw herself one footfall closer to the door at the top. What was waiting for her there? It drew her. It moved her thighs like pistons and lifted her knees and pushed down on her heels like she was some sort of marionette, strings attached. Jaunted out, levered up, until she felt her hand on the cold metal of the doorknob.
The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
There had been blood. The shrieks were silent but the blood was real. It was unforgiving and unrelenting, streaming forward from wounds she had created. What had she done?
The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
It had a particular smell, the house. When so much dust has layered for as many years, it gives an odor reminiscent of a life once lived. A life she had taken. Whose was it?
The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
Sunlight came in from the windows at the top of the stairs and she remembered his voice, calling to her. He was weak. The dinner she’d cooked for him was doing its work, and he was crying out to her for help. There’s nothing to help you now, she’d said and the horror transfixed into his face. He froze, looking that way. He died looking that way. It was the worst thing for him, caught looking anything other than dashing.
The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
Sometimes she wanted to get to the top of the stairs.
The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
He had hurt her. So many times. It wasn’t always tangible, certainly not always outwardly visible. But the years of the turned-down smile when she spoke, the twitch of disgust when she tried to explain what she meant. His silence. His overarching disappointment in all that she was. Eventually they all agreed with him. She was a waste of space. She had nothing to offer.
The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
They had laughed so often together once, in the before time.
The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
It was a distinct smell, the burning flesh. The shock consumed him before the flames had completed their work but it was just another way she had introduced him to his death.
The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
She had hoped the baby would change things but the baby never came. Instead a flood of red and nights spent sobbing on the toilet, alone. She looked to him with her tear-streaked mess of a face and saw only the turned-down smile fading around the corner of the bathroom, retreating into the darkness of the hallway. She was nothing. She had nothing to offer.
The wooden flower bloomed again. Half sunrise, a ligneous seashell; she had been here before.
Fiction © Copyright Leah Lederman
Image courtesy of Marge Simon 

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More about Leah Lederman:

Leah 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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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

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

Posted on November 21, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Shed
by A.F. Stewart

You could see it from the road as you drove past my neighbour’s farm.
A weathered hut, cement and stone with a tin roof, and a rusted metal door. A locked door, sealed shut with a chain and a corroded padlock. You can’t see the lock from the road of course, but I’ve had a closer view.
Maybe it was trespassing, sneaking on to his farm and inspecting his old shed, but I needed to know. The whole town whispered about my neighbour, how he wasn’t right, how he kept to himself; most folk thought he was making moonshine or cooking drugs in his shed.
I didn’t, but I needed to be sure.
That night I went to the shed, and with the only window blacked out, I broke in to confirm my suspicions. Picking the lock was easy; one of many skills I learned during a misspent youth. And the rusty old door opened on all his secrets.
I found what I was looking for.
Rows of knives, hacksaws and other weapons hanging the walls, covered in dried blood, Red stains on the floor. A crooked shelf with nine jars of liquid with a pair of eyeballs floating in each one. I stared at a set in particular, a familiar shade of green staring back at me. Her eyes. Her beautiful, gentle eyes, the only thing he left me.
I had my proof.
I know now why my neighbour’s storage shed was always padlocked.
I was right about him.
It’s where he killed his victims.
It’s where I killed him for what he did to my sister.
Fiction © Copyright A.F. Stewart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from A.F. Stewart:


Horror Haiku Pas de Deux

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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author E.A. Black @ElizabethABlack @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on November 21, 2017 by Nina D'Arcangela

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Loss
by E.A. Black

Jerry had spent the last six months renovating the Victorian. Influenza had taken little Sarah Deacon in this second floor bedroom over 200 years ago. He had lost his own son Eddie at six weeks.
How would a child haunt a house? Would she giggle, expecting newcomers to play hide and seek? Did she write on the walls as she had done while alive? Or would she curl up where she had laid sick, with only the sound of her suffocated breath masquerading as a breeze? Flu seemed like such a minor thing with modern medicine. It was hard for him to imagine how devastating the disease was in 1917 when Sarah had died.
Jerry swung the pickax until plaster behind the radiator fell in a dusty heap at his feet. Wallpaper hung in strips like tattered flesh. The lathe was stuffed with insulation. As Jerry pulled out the foam, he spied a flash of pale blue. He reached inside, grabbed what felt like cotton fabric and pulled. The child’s dress he pulled from the wall must have been a vibrant hue when new. Was this Sarah’s dress? He knew people often stuffed lathe in old houses with newspapers and fabric to act as insulation. He’d already found a magazine dating back to 1916 with news of The Great War.
He draped the dress across his arms as if he held the child. Sadness overwhelmed him. This dress only reminded him of the gaping hole in his life. He wished he could speak to Sarah, to tell her all would be okay. She no longer suffered. Like Eddie. Daddy was here. A tear rolled down his cheek as the window slowly shut on its own. Hair rose on the back of his neck as he turned to see the door close and lock, but he felt no fear.
He was no longer alone.
Fiction © Copyright E. A. Black
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from E.A. Black:

Roughing It

When a strange outbreak occurs at a lakeside campground, Jake Walker and Lance Cameron investigate. Not only are they biologists, they’re lovers who share a passion for science.

The outbreak has locals terrified. Nine campers become sick; four die, and one victim reports an increase in her sex drive so serious, she attacks her best friend’s husband. Is this lustiness caused by the disease? What’s behind the odd rainstorm that falls over a small geographic area and the strange red dust around the cabins? Is this outbreak a new disease or something much more dire?

Together Jake and Lance must find the cause before others are infected … and before they come down with the plague themselves.

If you like The X Files, The Andromeda Strain, and Outbreak, you’ll like Roughing It.

Available on Amazon!

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