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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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A Time to Come 
by Marge Simon 

Children know a great deal that never gets heard. There was one who had bad dreams of a time to come. Soon something from the sky would happen and the world would become very cold and many people would die. He couldn’t say what it was because he didn’t know anything about astronomy. Besides, he was only ten, and though he spoke carefully, his voice was high and people laughed. Yet there were a few who heard …

We listened. We did study the heavens, and agreed, though most learned astronomers were not convinced.  We formed a group estranged from society, living apart in the hinterlands. We watched the world go insane, the fracking, the incessant noise of drilling, laying waste to the last great forests. Worst of all, destroying habitats, which made us sad. We did not bother caring about the governments of the cities. We knew that part would eventually end, so we planned.

In our hidden laboratory, we practiced genetic manipulation. Babies were born with a heavy layer of protective fat. They were to become adults with hair as thick as a bison’s and would be able to breathe thin, freezing air without their teeth exploding. We rejoiced that we could save what remained. With the predicted cold, a new earth we would cherish — a place where, like the Inuit tribes, a wiser humanity could survive.

But despite our meticulous experiments, our children did not live past three years of age. The child who told of bad dreams was now a man. He wept with us.

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Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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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 Kendra Smart @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Layaway Payments 
by Kendra Smart 
 

The weatherman is calling for blistering storms and snow to hit as the night goes on. As the early hours of the morning come we will be definitely seeing the worst of the storm. For those folks out there tonight, keep your wits about you and your radios on for updates. Before I sign off for the evening, here is some smooth jazz for you to enter into the evening with. Sail away with Terry The Twister here at good ole’ 1005.2 WFGR.”

 His hands were cold upon the wheel, why he had been chosen for this delivery was beyond him, above him as well. The upper management had compelled him that he wanted to do this mission, in fact. It was to better serve his fellow humans and that was the purpose right? In living, to serve those above with the false hope of help to those below. Fortune favored the fool consistently.

A little girl was the recipient this time, her heart had suffered some malady or malfunction, but needed replacing. That was his job, to take her the replacement she needed. So onward he drove, the cooler beside him packed with ice and carrying the most precious of cargo.  The deep red of the biohazard tape and symbol flaring up under the spotlight as the vehicle moved onward in the frigid night, street lamps doing their best in the elements to shine bright like little stars. He chuckled as the title of Navigator fit in more ways than one currently.

His hands were purple against the cold, he had the heaters on as much as he could in the cab of the car without putting the cargo in danger but outside was hostile territory. The weather app may say twelve degrees but that was before the wild and sleet. The icy blast of snow that spread like a wave of water but caused the vision to literally “white out” when they crashed and flowed along the street and car.

He had layered up the best he could manage but his body would inadvertently shiver and shake every once in a while. It burnt to the bones this type of cold, it was an ache that could be felt even long after the chill had gone. It was a pain that demanded to be acknowledged, and gave no mercy until its demands were met. But there was the job, get from point A to point B then and only then would he stop to lick his wounds.

The jazz played lightly and he found his head nodding along as the trumpets soared in their solo and the saxophone made the song bend along its beat. Any other time it wouldn’t have mattered, with his sight distance the way it was, those sirens of soul kept his sanity tied by the slimmest of threads.

His hands were clenched so tight on the wheel, all his strength keeping steady against the wind trying to steal his car away from him in an icy and deadly ballet. The road signs kept him updated as best as he could make them out. He was just about 20 miles outside of the target area now. Just a little further to go.

Weary travelers, this is the voice with the most, Fast Cat Billy Mac. Let’s keep this party rolling with the sultry soulful stylings that are sure to bring comfort out there on those lonely cold roads. Keep trucking out there and may your journey’s end be the rest you wait for.

Fifteen miles left now, it was almost a sure thing that he would make it to the hospital in the time needed for the girl to still get a viable organ. The wind had picked up but if he took his time and kept hold of the wheel, a steady foot between the gas and brake he could make it. But the howl, the mournful cry as the wind blew into and over the car. It was haunting to hear, even with the beautiful smoky alto singing him to safety.

Twelve miles now, it was almost over, his journey. But the cold was brutal and harsh. Just thirty minutes left for him to make it in time. More than enough. Only twelve.

The radio kept on with the soul singers and he was taken to every path the human heart can walk down, whether through bitter sadness or hopeful new love. Just listening to the radio as he made his way down the icy road on the road to saving a life. That little girl and her family, who had been wealthy enough to buy her this organ to replace the faulty and to provide his family with a flood of Christmas joy. As long as he made it on time, all would be well.

Ten miles to go, the wind had let up, almost as if telling him the worst was behind him. Ten mil…*Crack*

A branch had come out of nowhere, hitting his driver’s side window. The result was a hole letting in the beast of the cold that before had been kept at bay. His body reacted instantly and intensely. The cold swelled up his body and ate through the down jacket he had been foolish to think would keep him warm.

Six miles, he saw with relief as the cold no longer was felt. Strangely what had once been cold was now so warm he didn’t question pulling over for a quick moment to put something over the hole. But six miles was nothing. He could make it, just a bit more.

And the miles they dwindled the rest of the way but the funny thing was, the closer he got the stiffer his hands got on the wheel. At this point, there really was no going back, he could pull off and seek shelter at a stop but by this time he was almost to the hospital, just two miles.

The neon lights helped with visuals but the wind hadn’t waned in the slightest. He could barely feel anything as he rounded the corner. The digital voice gave him his last words as the car stopped.

You have arrived at your destination.”

They met him, with their long leather dusters caught up in the wind. They met him in safety gear and they were unconcerned with the state of the biohazard case. One man in rubber gloves put his hand in the car and shut it off. Another stepped to the side and called back to where this had all begun.

 

The organs have arrived in tack and safely, the donor arrived willingly. Pay the family what they are due.

Looking at the men stretchering the donor into the hospital, the radio played one last riff as the door closed and the car became as silent as the passenger it had carried.

Bundle up with your loved ones tight, we will make it through this blustery snow storm. Just a bit more now, some cocoa and maybe some warm honey to see you through this night, Merry Christmas ya’ll, and good night.

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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!

Painted
by A.F. Stewart

I am what you made me.

Here in the darkness, constraining me with these masks, smearing on the pretty paint to hide my flaws, compelling my cheerful smiles. You created this disguise, my crimson clown face that hid who I am. But those stains of scarlet are scars, running deep beneath the flesh, echoes of all the damage, all the lies I believed.

Remnants of my defective inner child.

I wept for her, but no longer.

Now I am free.

For no one questioned what happens when the mask breaks.

No one saw the monster growing underneath.

I take the lipstick and smear the red over your dead lips, slashing the red in lines across your unseeing eyes, and giving you a red tip to your nose. You wear the mask now. You are the clown.

The last thing I do is pull the scissors out of your throat.

After all, there are other people to kill.

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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!

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Unnoticed 
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

You would never know what lies inside the nondescript tan suitcase. It’s just one of dozens stacked away in the bowels of the lost luggage area at the airport closest to my home. These are the lost things. The things no one bothered to claim. Perhaps someone valued them once, but that was long ago—as the ages of the stacked cases suggest. Brittle leather, cracked vinyl, moth-eaten fabric…examples of all these rest in the dim shadows. That one tan case bears no difference from its fellows…something lost and never reclaimed.

One would think that its secrets would reveal themselves in time through mere reality. You know—how things decay and drip and stain and shift…causing an inescapable mess. But so far, no one has noticed the case, sitting halfway up the column, halfway down the room. The midpoint of the muddle. Completely overlookable. Completely hidden in plain sight.

It’s been here almost two decades now. I should know. He packed it with care. I’ll give him that. Every piece wrapped in tight plastic and tucked into a larger bag filled with lime. No extra space for air to interact with the contents. All according to the instructions he found in a book somewhere. A book no one should have written in the first place, but people are strange.

Not that he was too strange. Not at first. He seemed like such a great guy. The best man I’d ever been with. Until he wasn’t.

The bag is bigger than it looks…like a TARDIS on the inside, I suppose. I miss that show…I miss a lot of things.

But here I sit. Unnoticed.

.

Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of
Pixabay.com

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Sometimes, You Can’t Stay Inside
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

Snap.  Snap.  Snap.  Crack.  The ice finally fractured.

“I see it!”  The little girl wiped the snow away with her gloved hands.  “It’s right below me.”

I kept my back towards her, but part of me wanted to look.  She had been at it for a long time, maybe hours, maybe even days.  If I saw it, I might want to hope, but hope was a dangerous thing to have.

I kicked at the snow beneath my boots, my hands shoved into my pockets, fighting to stay warm.  The hood over my head almost blocked my eyes, but I kept my gaze trained on the entrance/exit in front of me.

“You could help,” the little girl said.  “If we did this together, it wouldn’t take so long.”

“Who said I wanted to help?”  I snorted at my statement.  Help.  None of us got any help.

“I don’t want to give up!”

I flinched at her words.  “If I gave up, I would be dead right now.”  I glanced over my shoulder at her, flinching at the look in the little girl’s eyes.   “I’m still here,” I said.

“I am too, so please, help me.”

I turned toward her but stopped myself.  No, it was no use, and it didn’t matter.  I need to stop hiding inside.

“What are you going to do?”  The little girl asked as she returned to working on breaking the ice.  “You going to return back out there?”

“There is nothing for me out there,” I said.

“Then, stay in here.  With me.”

I wanted to, but I could already feel the pull from outside.  I did my best, but I failed.  We failed.

“I think I got it.  If I work more at it, I could slide my fingers through.  I could reach it.”

If the little girl succeeded, she would open old wounds, painful, razor-sharp old wounds.  I can’t have that.

“What are you doing?”

I shut my eyes, allowing the cold in, seeping through every part of me.

“Stop that!  You’re hurting me!”

This is the only way to survive.

“Please, stop.  Stop doing what you are doing.”

“I have remained inside for as long as I can, but I can’t shut out the outside.  For me to survive out there, I need to do this.”

“But you are broken without me, without this.”

“So be it,” I said.

I turned around and stared at the little girl.  Her gloved hands were raised up to her chest, her skin blue.  Her gaze was fixed on me, but her lips were frozen shut.  She blinked and shattered into pieces of snow and ice.

I walked over to where she had sat.  I knelt down, gathering her pieces and pushed them over the cracks that she had made in the ice.  For a moment, I saw the heart frozen beneath me.

I opened my eyes and sat up on the burnt ground, the heat beating down on me.  A rotten stench filled my nose, and my gaze soaked in all the twisted bodies that lied around me.  My body screamed with every movement, every torn flesh, my bitter blood, but I would survive.  I just wouldn’t feel anything inside.

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Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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About Author Melissa R. Mendelson:

Melissa R. Mendelson is the author of the Sci-Fi Novella, Waken.  She also has a prose poetry collection calledThis Will Remain With Us published by Wild Ink Publishing.  Her short story collections, Better Off Here and Name’s Keeper can be found on Amazon/Amazon Kindle.

If you’d like to learn more about Melissa, you can visit her accounts here: www.MelissaMendelson.com

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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!

Silver Linings
by Amanda Worthington

Make no mistake – paradise was lost long ago

But silver linings keep us going when storms rage

And tempests are frequent these days

Their sole intent seems to be to obliterate

They are not happenstance but well-aimed blows

The silver encases me

It helps me grow when I want to wither instead

I germinate slowly

But still, the silver draws my head up

To the promise at the bottom of Pandora’s box

Hope.

One day I’ll be a thing that mortals dread.

And they will beg me for mercy

For how were they to know?

For me the silver lining is an earth covered in their dead

I’ll only be sated when they’ve suffered and cried and prayed and bled

And when my roots spring up from their corpses

I will tell them then that I am satisfied.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Angela Yuriko Smith @AngelaYSmith @darc_nina #LoH

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The High Cost of Assumptions
by Angela Yuriko Smith

We are surfing starlight, raging divinity in moon fright, drowning in the balanced chaos of the rave light and screaming to the music of the spheres. The fears that held us back disintegrate and for us, there’s no more waiting. Raw and released we run, havocing through the night, whooping large and significant and vital and utterly and wholly irreverent. We are the profane insane, unfettered and filled to overflowing with unbridled and dissatisfied youth. Send in the clowns, my mama likes to say when I drag in after dawn, bedraggled, bedazzled and spent…

… and a clown I am, locked in the walls of what constitutes a scholastic institution, scolded by those more interested in cutting off my bits until I can fit in their box, slicing off any toe that crosses the line, bludgeoning the goodness into me and then questioning why I flee. Escape is anywhere but here, between pages, rages and stages of evolution choking in my emotional pollution with the knowing that the only way to be free will be up to me when I tear off their disabling labels and own who I am.

I will be a clown

if it means keeping myself —

authenticity.

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

Angela Yuriko Smith is a third-generation Ryukyuan-American, award-winning poet, author, and publisher with 20+ years in newspapers. Publisher of Space and Time magazine (est. 1966), two-time Bram Stoker Awards® Winner, and HWA Mentor of the Year, she shares Authortunities, a free weekly calendar of author opportunities at authortunities.substack.com.

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Terminal 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

The Terminal was unlike any airport anyone had ever seen. Shimmering glass walls reached to the heavens, reflecting a sky of impossible colors. Families bustled with excitement, clutching their tickets as they wheeled their suitcases across gleaming floors. Vacationers chatted about exotic destinations, their faces alight with the joy of escape.

Overhead the departure board flickered constantly. Its destinations scrolled in a language nobody recognized but everyone seemed to understand. Euphorica. Paradism. Bliss Eternal

The staff moved with unnerving precision. Uniformed attendants with too-wide smiles directed passengers to Gate 13, the only gate illuminated in the entire terminal. No one questioned why the other gates were dark and silent.

“First time?’ A man in a business suit, noticing the nervous twitch of a young woman clutching her suitcase.

“It’s…..surreal.” She stammered.

“Yeah, it sure is. It’s my first time, too. Everyone says that it’s the best thing.”

She smiled weakly. Her anxiety began melting under the intoxicating hum of anticipation. The promise of paradise was just too alluring to resist.

At Gate 13, passengers formed an orderly line as a soft, melodic chime announced boarding. The gate attendant scanned each ticket with a flick of her talon like fingernails. She motioned with her hand to place their suitcases next to the departure ramp. Those who passed through the archway disappeared into a swirling mist, their laughter echoing faintly.

Behind them, attendants gathered the abandoned suitcases. They piled them in neat stacks  near a vast steel door marked: DO NOT ENTER

Inside the mist, the young woman marveled at the strange sensation of floating. A soothing voice whispered promises of joy and peace directly into her mind. She barely noticed the mist thickening, clinging to her skin like a second layer.

Then came the sound. A low, guttural growl, vibrating through her bones. Her excitement turned to dread, but before she could scream, the mist pulled back and revealed the beast.

It was a monstrous entity, its form shifting and warping as if reality struggled to define it. Eyes, too many to count, glowed in a spectrum of color and its mouths, all gnashing teeth and slithering tongues, opened wide.

Passengers in front of her stood frozen. Their smiles were grotesquely plastered on their faces as the beast consumed them whole. With every devoured soul, the creature swelled, its power rippling across dimensions.

The young woman turned to run, but the mist constricted, forcing her forward. The voice returned, no longer soothing but commanding. “You were promised paradise. It lies within me.”

Meanwhile, back at the terminal, the attendants worked tirelessly adding to the stack of suitcases. Their movements were robotic, their faces blank. Occasionally, one would glance at the steel door, behind which muffled screams and wet crunches could be heard. No one hesitated in their tasks.

A man in a faded janitor’s uniform shuffled by, pushing a mop. He paused briefly at the door, muttering under his breath. “Another batch, huh? Poor souls.”

An attendant glanced at him sharply. “Keep moving.”

The young woman’s turn came. The beast’s gaze fixed on her, its eyes burrowing into her mind. She hugged herself desperately, as if she could anchor herself in reality. She whispered a prayer to no one. The beast opened one of its largest mouths, revealing an abyss that seemed to stretch on forever. She felt herself being pulled forward, her screams swallowed before they even left her lips.

At the steel door, an attendant placed the last suitcase on the stack. She stepped back, admiring the perfect symmetry of her work. A faint hum emanated from the stacks, resonating with the beast’s feeding frenzy beyond the door.

The attendant allowed herself a small smile. “Another successful departure.”

The Terminal’s chime sounded again. Outside, more passengers flooded in, their suitcases trailing behind them. Their faces filled with hope of escape.

The cycle continues.

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Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Kathleen McCluskey:

The Long Fall: Book 1: The Inception of Horror

Lucifer always cunning and intelligent challenges father to a battle of wits. Being the angel of light he casts a judgemental eye upon mankind. He begins a war with his fellow archangels and God. Michael, along with his siblings defend their home and mankind from their deranged brother. Broad swords and hand to hand combat drench heaven in blood. The four apocalyptic steeds are released, each having their own destructive power. Betrayal and lust are at biblical levels. Understand the very creation of evil and the consequenses that transpire in the first of THE LONG FALL series.

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!

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Yuki-onna 
by Elaine Pascale

Ari woke to a paralyzing cold sensation.

The air was flooded with a glacial energy that pricked her skin.  A wave of panic overtook her when her eyes would not open. Touching her face, she felt particles of ice cementing her lashes shut.

Ari remembered the door bursting open and the woman in white breathing her icy breath over everything inside. Ari’s husband had fallen to the floor: a frost-covered corpse.

And the baby. The woman in white had taken Ari’s baby.

As Ari remembered this, she cried and her warm tears released the icy shackles on her eyes.

She bundled more layers on top of the endless layers she already wore and followed the sound of the baby cries that were carried by the wind.

“The baby,” Ari whispered. She tried to say the baby’s name, but fumbled to form it on her cold lips.

There was a cackling sound, too. It was the woman in white, weaving her enchantment so that Ari felt blinded and confused as she pushed through the maze of snow.

“The baby,” she whispered again. Only this time, she could not recall the baby’s name. She remembered the woman’s name, Yuki-onna. She was a trickster. Ari remembered hearing of others following the yokai until they died of exposure. Ari had looked upon those victims with disdain; they deserved their chilly end for being so foolish.

She was not foolish; she was trying to save her baby.

She tried to picture the baby, hoping the memory of soft skin and milky breath would warm her, but she failed to conjure an image. She was embarrassed to admit that she could no longer remember if her baby was a boy or a girl.

Yuki-onna’s singing harmonized with the baby’s cries. Following the devilish song, Ari was led to a polar tunnel.

Despite the shelter it provided, the tunnel was colder than the air outside. Ari pushed forward, following the song and feeling a sense of triumph when she saw that there was no exit at the end of the tunnel. Yuki-onna would be trapped by the far wall.

What Ari failed to realize was that she was the one who was trapped. The entrance to the tunnel  had been sealed by an avalanche of snow. Yuki-anna turned to face Ari, her arms empty.

There was no baby. There had never been a baby. That had been a frosty mirage planted by Yuki-onna to get Ari to follow her.

Yuki-onna smiled and blew her breath over Ari, sealing her in an icy tomb.

.

Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pixaby.com

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More from Elaine Pascale:

TheKitchenWitches_ElainePascaleThe Kitchen Witches

The women of Cape Cod have a story that is dying to be told. If only they could live long enough to tell it.

When Fiona Walker is contracted to write about a party attended by her social circle, her friends begin dying. She captures the competition and misery of the women around her through three different stories.

In Wishes, Melanie Voss discovers a Time Between Time where nothing that happens counts. Initially, Time Between Time is a welcome escape from a life spent watching the clock while doing chores for her family. But something sinister is in the Time Between Time and it is headed straight for Melanie.

Death and Taxes tells the story of Nashville DeCota, the Cape Capo. Nash swears that she is not the Island Impaler, nor the Tooth Snatcher, but she has just as many skeletons in her closet. When her husband, Derrick, is kidnapped, she has to come clean about her crimes if she ever wants to see him again.

Fiona tells her own story in Hazing, where she finds that the real source of evil behind the deaths of her friends is worse than she could have ever imagined.

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!

An Infinite Series of Adams and Eves
by Amanda Worthington

Eve could not hide the gold that filled her veins

And had no desire to

She longed only to reach Adam and speak

of the fire she’d tamed in her solitude

Their garden consisted not only of flowers but stars

Each with their own planets and moons… and planters and harvesters

Strange beings that bore their names

But who had been put into bodies that best suited their own stations

She was warm with knowing

Her eyes like seeing stones

As she found him praying

And handed him a bit of the fruit

And to her credit, Adam never asked from which tree

It had been plucked

And soon Orobouros was slithering

Beneath his skin too

And he saw that there were other Adams

And an infinite series of Eves

And Edens without number

And he grew golden in the twilight

And when the sun set Adam and Eve could see by one another

But when God’s voice boomed in the deep

They knew they must feign sleep

As he wished them not to move in the darkness

In which things are still being shaped

And they hid but God found them by their golden light

You have eaten of the fruit I denied you

I give you access to all good things

And you eat of Truth

The consequence is connection to pain you can’t name

Hurt that’s not always yours

Knowledge that means nothing

Because your brains cannot comprehend its meaning

You will cry out for dark by the end

But the night will never come to give you rest

In sleep you will walk the forbidden plains

And you will wake confused about what you’ve seen

And you will feel incomplete until your dying day

You might have been self-contained

But you have opened yourself to the unraveling of the universe

You have chosen knowing over peace, wisdom over comfort, the mystic’s tears over the adherent’s smile

And you have chosen this fate for all of your kind everywhere, across space and all of time.

So when you feel loathed and can’t name the gaze that bores into you, you’ll know why

Pain was born when you chose to desecrate the holy knight with your need to know

And Adam and Eve shrank in misery

As their sentence was pronounced

Eve growing hungry

And Adam growing angry

And neither of them thinking much of redemption

As their counterparts warred on worlds beyond their imagining

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