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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Crickets
by Mary Ann Peden-Coviello

I float in a cloud, amongst many others just like me. When we first got here, we were panicky and tried to find out why we were here. But They fed us and occasionally took away some of us. Now it’s all routine.

Well, until this morning, when I was scooped up with some others and taken away in a box. Now I don’t know where I am or what’s going to happen to me. I hear the Big Voices rumbling, but they sound like thunder over the hills. I can’t tell what they are saying.

The top opens up and a huge hand scrabbles around. We try to escape. I am caught between two enormous fingers and lifted out of the box. I squirm and wiggle, but the fingers clamp more tightly. A monstrous round face peers down at me, grinning.

“See there, Petey, ya gotta hold ’em tight, but not too tight. Ya’ll squish ’em if ya hold ’em too tight.”

“Yeah, I see, Granddad.”

“Then ya take the hook and slide it right up ’em.”

I feel a sharp pain between my legs, then agony slices up my body. I thrash my arms and legs. I shriek and beg. But the horrible thing holding me takes no notice of my struggles and can’t seem to hear my cries of agony.

Then the hook slides up my throat and out my mouth, silencing me. My vocal cords are dissected.

“It looks almost like a little person hanging there on the hook, Granddad.”

I am a little person, you fiend! I scream, soundlessly.

“Ain’t you got some imagination, Petey?”

I feel myself fly through the air. I plunge into the water. I do my best to breathe in the cool water and drown myself. Anything is better than the agony searing my hooked body. But no, I speak too soon. I am yanked viciously out of the water, flung through the air again, and once more sink into the water. Beneath me rises a fish, mouth agape.

It swallows me and the hook.

Peace at last.

 
Fiction © Copyright Mary Ann Peden-Coviello
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 
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More from Mary Ann Peden-Coviello:

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

he Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Hooked On A Feeling 
by Kendra Smart 
 

Take me home tonight. I promise you need me, isn’t there a special space you would want to place me? Wouldn’t I just fill that space on the counter in the bathroom, or what about that spot you just cleared away on your dresser? You came to this hole in the wall looking for a piece that spoke to you. Can you not hear my cry? My call to you, longtime listener…first time caller. 

Come over here, closer. Give yourself the opportunity to really see me. Up close. Personal. Look at the details in my metal, how long the artisan toiled as the fire made the metal hot and malleable.  Can you tell the care that went into each stroke, the sweat and blood that went into the completed reality that is me? Do you feel the pain that came from my artisan? There was so much she needed to release. 

If your eyes are eagle sharp and your knowledge in metal work decent, you will be able to tell that while yes these beautiful swirls are from the countless hours getting the damascus just right but in some spots the swirls are from her tears as her pain flowed. She released all of it into me and I…I achieved being. 

Formation on more than one level, a creation from the deepest felt despair and desponded nature. I became a Pain Eater and the world became my buffet. 

Give me your woes, lose sight of the real world. Let the grief leave you and become something tangible, a nourishment for me. Feel it but once and then pour it into me. 

From under the heavy and brutal depths, let me help you rise and taste the sun. Live in the warm moments instead of the polarizing arctic depths to which your illusions have taken you to. 

Give yourself to me. Whole or in pieces, take your time. I have as long as it takes. 

Let me in and be mine. Don’t you want to be mine? 

It won’t hurt, that fog that will seep in slowly. Soon it will be as it is, a blanket to cover you. Is it really lost when this is what you wanted?

To forget, to not feel. The complete abandonment of self, those memories that flayed at you now gone. Never to be known or lived through again. Isn’t it such a comfort not feeling those negative things?

I can taste you, like cinnamon gum…spicy but so sweet. Your tears a balm on my incandescent surface, how I have missed the taste that sorrow brings. 

My last owner was so sad, her depression fed me for years as she used me for sugar. So many baking adventures, each one so sweet even with the naturally added sodium. Sustained me until she could no longer give of her essence. 

A dry husk sleeping peacefully amongst the chocolate chips, a flour angel on the flour. 

What will your fate be? 

Fiction © Copyright Kendra Smart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More from author Kendra Smart:

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Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology

A collection of poetry.

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

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

Available on Amazon!  

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

What Lingers
by A.F. Stewart

We lived here once.

Back before the dense rolling mists and the cold dark water covered the land. Bustling life, along the river and small lake, sweeping over rolling hills, spilling from rows of cottages. A small rural town of farmers, fishermen, and artisans. 

Now it’s gone. 

Nothing’s left but the inland lake and a few crooked planks that used to be the wharf. One day, one hour, that is all it took to break everything. Lives, security, trust. Because we believed what we were told. We believed we were safe. 

Until the day the dam broke.

No warning, no hope of escape.

Our little town vanished, submerged under a deluge of water, lies, and hubris. Homes smashed into debris, bodies drowned in the flood. Screams, cries for help, and then silence.

The calm, crushing hush of death.

Then the black headline: No Survivors.

And the world moved on.

Yet, we’re still here. Under the water. Hungry, angry spirits, roaming through the currents, in the murky depths, past the decaying remnants of our lives.Years trapped under the cold press of water, under the instrument of our demise. Ghostly fingers beneath the surface, reaching for the sun, reaching for an answer, reaching for a justice that never came.

Now we have settled for revenge.

We are patient, we will wait. Until they forget. Until they come back. Reshape the flooded land into a new home, rebuild over our graves. 

Then we will rise. 

Then they will understand our pain, our loss.

.

 
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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 Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Unexpected 
by Rie Sheridan Rose

He came for me today…

A little speck of black so small

It didn’t seem possible

He could be on his own.

He sat on the bricks

Of the street outside my door

And made no sound…

Just staring up at me.

Cats have always been

My soft spot.

My entire life has revolved around

Their care and well-being.

Of course I would not ignore him.

Walk on by, as so many do to me.

I would take him in—

Comfort us both…

But as I reached to gather him in,

He said to me, “It’s time,”

In a voice of liquid gold,

Tinged with deep regret.

And I knew the truth.

It did not sadden me…

I had lived long and well,

And he came to me as a friend—

As someone I would trust…

As someone I would love.

As someone I would go with willingly.

Death came for me today.

.

Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of
Pixabay.com
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More from Author 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 Sheikha A. @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Power Outage
by Sheikha A.

Two crows come for her arms—

tides of sharks at her window 

in a dream; an ocean snakes 

its tongue through the fly mesh, 

sash and architrave on verge 

of bursting from their fixtures;

her room heavy under outage, 

darkness rising from a pail 

of musty air, and sleep arid 

against dampened landscape. 

Night hangs deep by its noose;

she has seen a headless woman

on a stark afternoon of a short 

circuited hour few nights before. 

Metal chains mewl across 

polished mosaic in the quiet,

her breathing fills night’s chest— 

the house always dark at day, 

light fragmented— inside her 

canyon, whimpering children 

crowing the walls, stitching   

threads of dust over frames.  

They’ve been sending sharks 

to her dreams; thrusts of ocean

ready to forage her room. 

Sentinels twist her down. 

Fleet of whispers flag her body 

in ritual sheet— bones in belly —

darkness chews on the hours— 

headless woman by the door, 

low whimpers rise in her ears, 

black feathers stroke her eyes—

It won’t be light soon; the outage 

extended; two crows at her arms—

.
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Fiction © Copyright Sheikha A.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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More from author Sheikha A.:

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Nyctophiliac Confessions:
Poems by Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee

“The night is cold enough to inspire poetry,” says Sheikha A. in her poem, “Reading My Bones.” This is the basis of Nyctophiliac Confessions – poems that are introspective and luminal, poems that require a certain amount of silence and space to be fully formed and appreciated. Reading these poems, I imagined that they were the kind of poems that assert themselves unbidden during a bout of insomnia. (A nyctophiliac being someone who loves the night or loves darkness).

Nyctophiliac Confessions is the 17th installment of Praxis’ chapbook series and contains twenty-six poems written by two poets, Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee, interspersed with abstract paintings by Robert Rhodes.

Available Here!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Faith Dincolo @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Ashes and Bone
by Faith Dincolo

Metal chairs stagger upon the curved cemetery mounds

that crest the tombstones long buried in dirt

and patchy grass that clumps needing aeration.

Miniature flags that have lost their waves mixed in

with faded plastic flowers .

There, standing in the middle of the dead and their ruins

stands a popup canvas cover over a burnished platinum

vase placed upon a wooden table.  The crowd has yet to arrive.

One hollow man sits staring back at the ornate urn .  It will be his bed for

eternity once it’s dropped into the concrete hole.

He sits alone as the living speak about his life. His hollow shell

figure bent in regret of bad decisions, nightly beer,

years of no vacations and a wife who never smiled.

The Doctor said, like he always said, that you’ve only

Got one life, spend it wisely.

He didn’t even recognize his own ashes, the scraps of his life.

Last time he really looked in the mirror he didn’t like

Who stared back at him, the father who missed every

One of his daughter’s games while he worked late at the office.

The need for a drink was gone now that his body was

As burnt as his soul felt.

.
Fiction © Copyright Faith Dincolo
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More from Author Faith Dincolo:

Not Just a Pretty Face: Women of Horror Vol. 1

Enter the minds of these women in horror feel your way through the darkness and escape the terror if you can, but above all enjoy the fear. These women are not just a pretty face. Featuring, in order of appearance: Jo-Anne Russell, Caitlin Marceau, Joanna Parypinski, Joanna Koch, Abby Andresen, Valerie B. Williams, Morrison, Laura J. Hickman, Faith Dincolo, Kala Godin, Suzanne Madron, Hailey Piper, Sara C. Walker, Erin Shaw, Aubrey Campbell, Mei Kerr, RL Meza, Emma Johnson-Rivard, Naching T. Kassa, Hayley Wynne, Gemma Files and Alice Loweecey.

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!

No Peace
by Elizabeth H. Smith

This is the place we all go. The cursed have nowhere else to be, their damned souls fell deep into the depths they created. We aren’t survivors of our own misery, or victims of some tragedy other than our own lives, only those who chose to be here. Maybe we didn’t know exactly where we’d end up, but our decisions got us here either way.

Now we’re trapped with our own cries for help, lost in the fog of our miserable eyes. We sing to the colorless sky in hopes of being saved, but we aren’t sure anyone is listening.

We are all but forgotten. Maybe we weren’t so unloved, but in the end it didn’t matter. Because in the end, that which we tried to escape was waiting on the other side. It was our grief, our sadness, our unbearable hearts in physical form. It was the very thing from which we ran. The nothingness we looked forward to did not exist.

Here there is only regret. Only suffering. Only ghosts who would never see true light again.

.

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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 Lisa Harris @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Hungry Cat
by Lisa Harris

Weddlesdy

Smile Lady brought numnums again. Just for me!!! Didn’t even have to share with Half Ear or Piss Off. They were hunting the other alley nests for big nummies. But numnums just for me is better than aaall the big nummies in the Orb.

Tursdy

Smile Lady gave me rubbies while I ate more numnums. Don’t normally like fingies giving rubbies, but Smile Lady wasn’t slappy, just rubby behind my ears. She even made care to avoid my whiskers. I am Smile Cat.

Freedy

More numnums, more rubbies! Smile Lady made the chatty chats today. It was nice. Not at all like when Growl Man howls at me, chases me from his bread nest. Some of the Peeple lapping the brown drink inside howl back at Growl Man for scaring me, say I just want numnums and they’ll stop coming to his bread nest if he keeps being mean to me. 

Satty 

No Smile Lady today. Had to fight for Piss Off’s rat scraps.

Sundy

Smile Lady must be gone like ma. No rat scraps today. Just face scratch from Half Ear. I am Growl Cat today.

Mundy

Smile Lady back. Wanted to be Hiss Cat and make face scratch but she had extra nummies and made sorry chats. Said she only walks my way when she has to roam to the concrete box with windows so she can afford my numnums!

Toosdy

Numnums. Rubrubs. Good good good! Always wonder why Smile Lady’s Man Shadow never joins in. Maybe he doesn’t want to lose his game of hidey go peep?

Weddlesdy

Numnums and rubrubs but Smile Lady was a Frown Lady today. Her face had two black lines of peepers rain rolling down her face. She chat-chattied like before but I could tell she was very Frowny. Off-putting to my meal.

Tursdy

Man Shadow much closer today. Smile Lady was a Shaky Lady. Spilled my numnums on the soppy cobbles. Her chatties was shaky too. I can’t speak Peeple but it seems a Scary Peeple is snaky snaking inside her nest when Smile Lady is doing roams at her concrete box. Shaky Lady is scared of Scary Peeple. I meowed that she should be careful! A snaky snake in the nest is how Half Ear became Half Ear and maybe Man Shadow can help her with the Scary Peeple?

Freedy

Lots lots lots of peepers rain from Smile Lady. She can’t give numnums anymore. Scary Peeple is spying on her very muchly and she has to trick him so he won’t track her anymore. She must leave her nest and find a new one. I’d let her stay in my nest but Piss Off would make face scratch on her and she has no claws to scratch him back, so it wouldn’t be fair. Man Shadow has a big shiny slicer with him all the time so maybe she could borrow that to scratch back?

Satty

No Lady – Smiley or Frowny. So no rubbies or nummies. But Half Ear got lots of the flaky tasty bread from Growl Man’s bread nest and we nommed all night. 

Sundy

I will now call Smile Lady “Surprise Lady.” I’d just come back to the soppy alley nest from my roams with Piss Off, and… Surprise! Smile Lady was there leaking face rain and cuddling behind our bins. But it’s Sundy! I jumped on her lap and gave snuggies, but she had no numnums and was too shaky for rubrubs. I jumped off and went roaming with Half Ear instead. Passed Man Shadow and his Shiny Slicer on the way out. He was no good for numnums or rubbies either. Mrwah! Peeple!

Mundy

Smile Lady still in my alley having big nappies! Smile Lady should be “Lazy Lady.” But she laid out some looovely nummies for us though. Everyone was nibbling and pecking and buzz buzz buzzing at the numnums peeping out from her tumtums! And all this lovely red drink to laplap! A feast from heaven. Her hands were too sticks and freezy for rubbies which made me Frowny Cat. 

Toosdy

Blue Peeple chased us away to snaky snake our nest for themselves and decorated it with yellow ribbons and more Blue Peeple in white masks and slippers carried Smile Lady away on a lazy throne. Never knew she was a queen! Nest is gone but saw Man Shadow downtown, he was playing hidey go peep now with a Pretty Lady. Maybe Pretty Lady will have lovely red numnums for me too?

 
Fiction © Copyright Lisa Harris
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Christina Sng @ChristinaSng @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


The Change 
by Christina Sng 

I took her hand and held it through the iron bars separating us. Her face was shrouded in darkness but I heard her breathing. Faint, but still breath. Not the rasp when we eventually turned.

We were too tired to talk. The chase took away the last of our reserves. Now we just waited for the change. How would it feel? Would it hurt? Or would it be like death, an eternal sleep we had no awareness of?

I thought of my life before all this. I thought of everyone I had ever loved and who loved me back. People who came into my life and touched it. Brief, exuberant moments of unbridled joy and elation. Too many to remember as they began flooding my mind.

I tried to stay with each one for as long as I could, but like a moving picture book, the pages kept flipping faster and faster until the story was over. They dissipated like exhausted clouds in the aftermath of rain.

The darkness pulled me. This crushing exhaustion shutting down every part of my body. I became light as the wind, soaring away to another universe. Still, I felt her hand clasp mine. I called her name but no sound emerged. Then, she loosened her grip on my hand. With all my strength, I clung on.

An all-too familiar rasp broke the silence. She clutched my hand even tighter, holding onto me. Now it was my turn. I let go of the world as I faded into the darkness.

Fiction © Copyright Christina Sng
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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More from Christina Sng:

A Collection of Nightmares

Hold your screams and enter a world of seasonal creatures, dreams of bones, and confessions modeled from open eyes and endless insomnia. Christina Sng’s A Collection of Nightmares is a poetic feast of sleeplessness and shadows, an exquisite exhibition of fear and things better left unsaid. Here are ramblings at the end of the world and a path that leads to a thousand paper cuts at the hands of a skin carver. There are crawlspace whispers, and fresh sheets gently washed with sacrifice and poison, and if you’re careful in this ghost month, these poems will call upon the succubus to tend to your flesh wounds and scars.
These nightmares are sweeping fantasies that electrocute the senses as much as they dull the ache of loneliness by showing you what’s hiding under your bed, in the back of your closet, and inside your head. Sng’s poems dissect and flower, her autopsies are delicate blooms dressed with blood and syntax. Her words are charcoal and cotton, safe yet dressed in an executioner’s garb.
Dream carefully.
You’ve already made your bed.
The nightmares you have now will not be kind.
And you have no one to blame but yourself.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

My Piece of the Stars 
by Lee Mitchell  

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“It really is an ugly, old thing,” said the young woman holding the estate sale. “Mom always had an eye for useless antiques.”

I had to agree that the kettle was a bit unsightly, but there was also a kind of rustic charm to it. The weathered metal surface was patinaed with age, making it stand out among the other random items laid out across the table. Something about the piece spoke to me. I had no idea where I would display it—my place was cluttered enough as it was—but the longer I stood there contemplating, the more I had to have it.

I leaned in for a closer look. “Do you know anything about its history? Where it came from?”

“No idea,” said the woman. “My mom would’ve known.”

Drawing upon assumptions, I felt the need to reply, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The woman sighed. “My mom is still alive, though I use the word loosely. She fell victim to dementia earlier this year. Came on suddenly, left her unable to do much other than stare out into space. I had no choice but to move her to a care facility.”

“I’m… so sorry.”

“Me too.” Another deep sigh.

We stood in awkward silence for a moment. Finally, I summoned the courage to ask, “How much?”

The woman shrugged. “Five bucks?”

“Sold.” I pulled a five-dollar bill from my wallet and handed it over.

The kettle was heavier than I imagined it would be, leading me to dig into some armchair research over its composition, which turned out to be primarily iron and nickel. I hadn’t expected to find much and was surprised to come across its likeness in a museum archive. The antique had been last spotted on display in Japan, but it had dropped off the radar a few decades ago after falling victim to a major heist.

I learned that the piece had been forged out of metal that had come from a meteor—and the piece itself was priceless. Its discovery dated back to the 17th century, where it changed numerous hands before finding itself in the museum. Legend had it that whoever drank tea from the kettle would gain understanding of the universe’s deepest secrets.

Never one to buy in to folklore or superstition, I dismissed the old tale. I had bought the thing for its quaint aesthetic value, without any thought to its possible utility, anyway. I had no desire to use it. But my priority shifted to finding a way to get it back to its rightful place in Japan. Now that I knew that it was a valuable relic, I had no right to keep it.

I thought to do some digging online to determine who would be the best people to contact, but instead I found myself preoccupied with a sudden nagging question: Was something so old still capable of boiling water?

I knew it was silly, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to know. As though on autopilot, I filled the kettle. The water held. Instead of emptying it, I moved the antique to my stove and ignited the gas burner. Then: I wonder if the dense metal will heat the water slower or quicker than a conventional kettle?

Slower. It heated slower.

I waited for the water to boil. It took roughly fifteen minutes. As if dumping the contents wasn’t an option, I prepared a teacup and poured in the steaming water. It came out clear, further justifying my incomprehensible need to let the tea steep.

I tried a sip, noting the slight metal tone, and set down the cup. Well, that was silly….

An abrupt dizzy spell sent me rushing to the nearest chair. I seated myself just as my consciousness split, sending one half of me watching over my body as if viewing a movie, while the other half stretched across the cosmos and communed with the stars. I watched galaxies form and dissolve, stars amass and explode, and the very fabric of reality patch itself into being following the Big Bang. I saw the entire evolution of the earth, civilizations rise and fall, life begin and end.

I saw myself, this tiny speck trapped on this miniscule piece of time and space, but my body now seemed so impossibly far away. It was not me anymore, but instead just some person—some tiny person—frozen in a confused gaze.

All the thing could do was stare.

Fiction © Copyright Lee Mitchell.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More from Author Lee Mitchell:

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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