The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lee Mitchell @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

By the Light of the Moon 
by Lee Mitchell  

Feels like I’ve been running in circles forever. Has time stopped, or have I lost all sense of its movement? If I didn’t know better, I’d assume that I’ve slipped into some impossible realm, one where the darkness is perpetual and the moonlight is my only beacon for navigating this cold, misty expanse. The laws of reality no longer seem to apply, but how can that be? Time and space don’t simply break, do they?

I am alone. The wind-swept tree branches rake at my arms and legs—reaching, stretching alongside the shadows, which contort and give chase as I rush by. I consider the possibility that this is just a vivid nightmare. That’s always possible. But then again, I remember every turn that led me here. Maybe I’m in a coma, and I’ve been here too long to remember my exile? But would a place that existed solely in my mind feel this real? And why would I put myself in such a torturous scenario? Does my self-hatred run so deep?

Or might I have landed myself in Hell somehow? Could the shift between life and death be so seamless? I think back through all I have ever done, searching for anything that might warrant such a hefty sentence, but nothing comes to mind.

The reason for this endless run might forever elude me, but the circumstances remain: The trees whip and tear at my body, the icy shadows close in on me at every turn, and no matter what I do or how long I follow the moonlight, I cannot escape this darkness.

.

Fiction © Copyright Lee Mitchell.
Image Copyright Rie Sheridan Roae

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More from Author Lee Mitchell:

The Divine Darkness

Alisha Brown led a mundane life until the day monsters started trying to kill her and random strangers began to shy away from her in awe.

All hell broke loose, quite literally, after Randy Thomas turned right on Main for Honey’s instead of making a left for home and then murdered his beloved wife in an unusually gruesome way. Escaping police and stopping traffic in New York City with a gas-spewing tentacle erupting from his mouth, his fears are confirmed: That one small backslide would serve as the final tipping point for all mankind, inviting in a timeless destructive force that would lead him to the frontlines of the war to end all wars.

A growing population has succumbed to their worst fears, some transforming into dreaded fictional monsters—leaving the streets flooded with vampires, werewolves, spontaneously combusting humans, and other horrors—while others have become angels and demons determined to fight in the holy war they believe is upon them.

Questions soon arise as Randy’s and Alisha’s roles in this bizarre apocalypse become uncertain. One is a professed sinner, the other an asexual virgin. Each has been touched by the hand of fate, and each believes they are humanity’s last hope. But belief can be a funny thing…

The Divine Darkness is the first installment of The Divine Darkness apocalyptic horror trilogy.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Playhouse
by A.F. Stewart

Giggles.
Faintly drifting in the corners
No one was left to hear the sound.
So it waited…

The child’s playhouse remained there, resting among the tangled weeds and decay. Mold crept up the sides, the roof slowly rotted, yet, it survived, even after the adjacent house was demolished. A neighbourhood eyesore, ignored. Fear kept people away, a vague sinister feeling that crept up your spine and made you shiver.
Everyone knew what happened in the playhouse that October day.
No one believed it could happen again…


She stood in front of the door, golden curls fluttering in the wind, listening. Only six years old and sometimes she imagined things. She knew that, but still, she heard something.
Something that sounded like a giggle.
“Hello?” She moved a step closer.
“Do you want to be my friend?”
The child jumped back and blinked. A little boy stood in the shadows of the playhouse, holding…a toy? She wasn’t sure.
The boy smiled. “Will you come play with me?”
She nodded and stepped inside. The door of the playhouse slammed shut.

There was blood all over her dress and in her golden curls. She turned her head as they wheeled her brother’s body past her and looked up at the police officer.
“Was I a bad girl?”
“Why did you stab your brother, sweetie? Was he hurting you?”
“I don’t know. I—I think he made me.”
“Who, honey?”
She just shook her head and never said another word.

Giggles.
Faintly drifting in the corners
So much blood.
Well worth the wait…

.

 
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More from A.F. Stewart:

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Visions and Nightmares

Tragedy spares no one… and takes no prisoners.
In the twilight shadows, secrets are revealed past the whispers of madness.

Wander into the realm of the old gods with Elenora, where humanity and marriage are a prison.
Step through a looking glass of dark horrors with an Alice you never knew.
Join with Zenna to seek the truth as her death by magic grows closer.
Journey with Olivia as she crosses paths with a monster of the forest and runs for her life.
Watch Isobel summon the faerie to solve her problem of an unwanted husband.
Shiver as Doctor Killbride experiments with corpses to create life from death.
All that and more await within the pages.

Ten stories. Ten women.
Who will survive? Who will fall? And who will succumb to their inner evil?
Find out in Visions and Nightmares.

Warning: This book contains disturbing scenes that may be upsetting to some readers.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alex Grehy @indigodreamers @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Dyin’ in the Rain: Movie Concept  
by Alex Grehy

See that sofa? Make it snap in half,

have two stars break their necks

let the main man stumble out,

he’s got nerve damage, looks

like he’s jiving in the rain, but really 

he’s grabbing that lamp for support,

now that’s when the lightning strikes; 

the electrical charge grips his hands,

his arms spasm, rigid, outstretched, 

forcing the pose, the post shakes,

he jiggles like a pole dancer. Yeah,

the smoke from his frying flesh

really adds to the atmosphere.

And the dumb broad with the 

squeaky voice? That’s the

new standard for music,

redefining talent 

for our times.

.

Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose

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More from author Alex Grehy:

Last Species Standing

Alex Grehy (she/her) enjoys writing quirky, thought-provoking horror and is a regular contributor to The Sirens Call and Ladies of Horror Flash Project. Her fiction and essays on being a lady of horror have featured in a range of publications, including Spread: Tales of Deadly Flora. Alex’s first poetry collection, Last Species Standing, which explores mankind’s relationship with nature and technology, is available on Amazon.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Amanda Worthington @AmandaW58679588 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Revisioning the Collapse of the Homo Sapien
by Amanda Worthington

Here, the drought endured for decades

Other places rivers overflowed their beds

The tide crept further in

Like it wanted to reclaim the half-evolved things

That stumbled from its foam

Before they were ready.

And in the sticks and stones

Covering the nameless remains we’ll likely find beneath

This thin layer of grit:

We see the first cast-off of the New-Poor

Eyeglasses

And of all spectacles to behold

These are an older model

They are of old-world glass

They don’t make them like this anymore.

What was that?

Nouveau Pauvre

Ah yes, you are of course correct

That is the technical term

Commonly known as the New Poor

These were those relatively insulated from hardship

Before the civilization’s collapse

A date which is hotly debated to this day!

Anyway:

It is highly unlikely that the wearer survived

The weather, recall from your lessons, was temperamental

Perhaps the rain rolled in and the fogging of the substandard lenses

Was seen as a liability

It is impossible to know

Reasons are often lost to time

We know of this artifact’s purpose

Mainly because of its depiction

On glyphs alongside

What is clearly the human eye

Found on structures we believe to have been important

In the provision of these aids in survival

It’s all tangential, an educated guess.

But that’s the business we’re in

Remembering the humans who once freely roamed this globe

And now are dust with the rare intact bone

A propitious find!

Their demise is not well understood.

We’re lucky this discovery is in one piece

I fear the inevitable body will not be

We should start digging immediately

This place is unstable

And sensors indicate that the viability window is closing

Which leads one to the inevitable question –

What did these foolhardy creatures do?

..

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Brothers 
by Marge Simon 

Over the years, it has tried many times to escape, but the walls would not open. Sometimes it finds things to eat, sometimes it chews on itself. It stank, but of course it doesn’t know that, much less care.

Tonight, the moon is visible through a crack in the boards. It hears the barking of a dog, the crunching of boots on leaves. “Yo, brother! Six year’s it’s been. You still there?”  The voice is familiar. It moans and salivates, scratching the wall.

“I figure there’s been enough bad blood between us. Hell, I feel bad about all this. I’ll set you free, if you promise to forgive a few little things I did after putting you in here. Mother hated you, she believed my lies. The mine we co-owned is worthless, I sold the deed to our land years ago, and I killed that whore you fancied.”

 It gives a croak of assent. The latch is rusted, but the lock still holds. His key won’t work, so he smashes it with his torch, breaking the chain.

It snarls, wipes its mouth. With impossibly thin fingers, it grips the door, pushing it open a crack at a time …

.

Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose 

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More from Marge Simon:

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Cast from Darkness
by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

Cast from Darkness is another triumphant collaboration between award-winning Speculative poets, Marge Simon and Mary Turzillo.

The poetry includes themes running the spectrum of the speculative genres and forms ranging from the haiku through many nuances of vere libre to the prose poem.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Safe as Houses 
by Elaine Pascale 

The mini-houses bloomed with the hint of psychosis as fertilization. One would pop up, fully formed, yet substantially smaller than a human home. It would stake its territory in a designated yard, surveilling those sharing its plot. It knew what went on inside the main house—seeing without eyes, hearing without ears, knowing in the most primitive way of knowing.

The mini-houses, like the families inside the main houses, would start off sturdy enough. Over time, the mini-houses would lose shingles, or some shutters, mirroring the lack of stability of the family it watched. Each piece of debris equaled an ounce of sanity lost.  A house on the verge of collapse depicted complete toxicity radiating from the family within—no matter how impeccable their home appeared to bystanders on the street.

Passersby could not know what truly happened behind closed doors. Nor could they know how the mini-houses pulled the strings of sadness like demented puppet masters.

Once intel was collected, the hairy, tentacled creatures would crawl from the mini-houses, slithering across the yards and into the main homes. They preferred access via pet doors, but they could find their way through locked doors and past alarm systems.

Inside the main house, they would squirm up the sleeping homeowners’ noses and wriggle into their ear canals. The people would wake with migraines and blame it on pollen or too much caffeine or a lack of caffeine or excessive screentime.

Then, the voices would start.

The hairy, tentacled creatures were masters of language. Their stakeouts taught them how to speak to the homeowners and just what verbiage to use. The creatures were experts at pushing buttons, savants at launching triggering phrases.

The creatures made the homeowners believe the words were coming from their own brains. The homeowners convinced themselves they were the ones concocting devious plans.

The voices brought the homeowners to the brink, to the point of no return. After listening to the voices, the homeowners reasoned there was no other way. They accepted there was no hope.

The news trucks would arrive and the reporters would interview bystanders, asking if they had any indication that something so horrible would happen in their neighborhood.

“I never would have suspected,” someone would answer.

“We had no clue,” another would concur.

“It’s hard to imagine,” the neighbors would say in unison. And no one could imagine…

Until a mini-house bloomed in their yard.

.

Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose

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More from Elaine Pascale:

The Solstice

Love is risky in the days of the Solstice.

Love, happiness, and hope are only available to those wearing red bands and taking Solidox pills. Solidox ends the pain of aging and returns the consumers to youthful health. Solidox tastes like the greatest comfort food imaginable, or even goodnight kisses. It also causes a hunger that can only be satisfied by human flesh.

When a hurricane decimates the only bridge on the island, the trapped residents must find ways to survive against those wearing red bands who have begun hunting them. There are rules attached to the hunt, but the rules favor the hunters. Amongst the debris and garbage that remain after the storm, a virus spreads, causing long-term memory loss leading to a war of attrition between the Red Bands and their prey.

Participants of the Solstice must use ingenuity to avoid being killed; nonparticipants are executed on sight. With the rules being arbitrary yet inflexible, is there a way to survive the Solstice?

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Perspective 
by Kendra Smart 
 

It was the same routine day in and day out. Wake up, shower, dress, get in the car, go to work, come home, sleep. Repeat. Even on his days off Darryl Casey had a routine, all the same steps, add time for a bagel and large coffee, black. His closet was filled with the same style of shirts, just three colors. Three pairs of jeans, ironed and hung, sat over his two pairs of shoes, tennis and boots. On his feet for the day were his slippers, lovingly given by his sister this past Christmas.  Sally had always been his Keeper, even when they were kids, she had watched over him never minding the ten year age gap.

Sally was the one Darryl had called when he had needed comfort after his first divorce and the loss of his only child. She had been his rock through the roughness. But even with Sally’s guidance, the routine came into being. He still rose every day and kept his routine because he had a small fear that if he changed one step that everything would change. That he wouldn’t hold those loved memories as deep. That he would allow time to heal him, and he didn’t want to be saved, he wanted to feel this pain. It fueled him.

Darryl Casey never had wanted a marriage, even in his teens, love had been nothing more than a concept, an idea with no weight. A dream within a dream, that the waking world never carried over to the harshness of his mind. He knew what was expected and could convey the message but the depth was never there and while that served him well in the military, in a marriage it was a death notice. The loss of their child had only driven the final nail in his and Marnie’s coffin.

Marnie went on to remarry and seemed happy now, even had a few more kids. But Darryl never again wanted to feel that loss, the loss of a child,  so he kept to himself. His heart was content with books and radio, animals and honing his various crafts. His attention to detail and sniper training held his skill set high compared to the average sir or ma’am. He was hyper aware and missed no details. The streetlight flickered on precisely at 9:05 p.m., full light achieved at 9:07 p.m., and the three cars awaited him just right up the walk.

One was his, a little old school SUV, he loved it and so he took great care in maintenance these last twenty-seven years. She still started like day one. Day one was very important, the day of great love and great loss. The accident of a naive babysitter and bad decisions of a teenage mind that led to rough pathways of a haunted adulthood. Darryl could relate, for his adult life had been haunted too.

The how’s and why’s of this night wouldn’t really matter much to anyone after this but his life was changing tonight, for better or worse. He had aligned his entire life so that he could watch her, plot her movements that he would mimic from a distance. He had become his enemy, down to her OCD schedule. Twenty seven years of his life had led to this moment. He had sacrificed it all for one taste of pain. That would be his mantle, in order to become at peace with his demons, he had invited them to a tango. Melded with them until the demons no longer knew they were in the presence of a mortal, of a man. He was right at home as the woman walked to her car for the last time. After tonight her haunting would end, and his demons might feel a bit quieter.  It was time for a little taste of the grave…

.

Fiction © Copyright Kendra Smart
Image Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose

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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 Elizabeth H. Smith @bethsmithwrites @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

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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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

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…

.

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

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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