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

Posted on August 26, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Caveat Emptor  
by Kendra Smart  

I can hear the sound in the silence. The mechanism turning and fulfilling it’s grand design and purpose. The dance meant to break me down, and over time it will succeed, has given me a rare chance to take the lead. 

A degree built on science, philosophy, the poets of history had sang through word, note, and art. But she had always dreamt of dance, the prima ballerinas and how they shone on the stage lost to the tides of their story and floating above the wooden floor gracefully silent against the crescendo of horns and strings. 

Fate had brought a science her way, the salesman seemed so sure that his device would work. An amplifier of renowned secret. An artifact that when attached to any material could assist the user to learn anything they wished to know. Instantly. Wasn’t there anything she wished she knew how to do and could replicate? Mr. McMurray said she could. 

So she did because there was. That aching need burned brighter as it was fueled by a hope springing free from years of no time, no priority. She held desire close to her heart and here stood a potential key, not to feel seen but to feel realized. 

A dream is a wish your heart makes. 

But timing was never the issue. Here before her stood the invitation and open hand reaching for hers to join the dance. 

Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?

Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?

Solid in her plan and having been devoted to her knowledge, it was really a simple matter of fashioning the right footwear for a dream becoming a reality. An honor and great care must be given for the perfect choice. The red shoes for a dance the Red Queen could be proud to pointe in. 

She was in love as her hands moved lithely but furiously, the pattern springing forward as though the yearn to break free and be created were just too much to bear. 

But after toils and foils, many a late night…they existed. 

Rose Madder in color covered with a lace of the same make. Thick ribbon, velveteen on the front, lay long enough to tie and shone against the light in a beautiful burgundy, gold trimming along the ribbon and lace work. She sighed as she viewed them. She had crafted them and they were ready save for the slot laid empty. Ready for the amplifier. 

Buyer beware had been just a passing phrase in a world of quick commerce and no label or directions had been given. 

She placed the amplifier, a small mechanical piece with but one button, and it was safe and snug in the alcove she had made for it. Now was the time. She had already broken in the shoes and had taped her feet like the girls in the videos had shown her. 

She placed her feet in and began lacing them up.  When she was satisfied, it was time. She stood and began the music for her favorite ballet, Alice in Wonderland. The Queen of Hearts music began but from the moment the button was pushed…her fate was sealed. 

For the shoes did in fact connect with the amplifier. And once it had acclimated to its chosen purpose the machine connected with her.  Through her, piercing through skin to assimilate and intertwine, becoming part of her. Her screams were so loud in her head as the white hot pain scorched along her bloodstream, burnt along every nerve and muscle, even her bony prominences produced the worst echoing ache. 

But on the outside all was normal.

The amplifier did as it was marketed. It enhanced the desire of those who used it, for whatever fashion. But in return, the soul was sold, in bargain, for the Jin are fair enough. They never lie about what is sold. But nor is a disclaimer given. 

But nothing in life is free, and the seller always comes calling for the price. 

Caveat emptor.

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Fiction © Copyright Kendra Smart
Image courtesy of Pexels.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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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Jaime Johnesee @JaimeJohnesee @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on August 26, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Forgive Me, Father…
by Jaime Johnesee 

I used to come here to pray. Before the war, before the place was bombed to bits, before only half the cathedral remained. I continued to come after the destruction, to remember and hope that my prayers are heard. For so long now I’ve been embattled in a war with reality. My beliefs were constantly crushed under the heel of enemy forces. Was God real? Had He forgotten us Earthlings, or were we some horrible experiment sent to the furthest reaches of the universe so as not to corrupt the rest of His creations?

Why did He have to take everyone I loved? Why was I left alone to shoulder this pain? As I walked down the aisle once lined in confessionals, now lined in rubble and ruin. I wondered if I was the only one cursed, or if it was the whole damned world.

A priest stood in front of me, and I stopped, startled by his sudden appearance, and apologized.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

A light to his face revealed that he was one of the turned, the completely black eyes, sharp snout, and pointy teeth let me know immediately that he was one of the infected. I turned to run for my life, and ran straight into another one. They fell upon me like dogs, snarling and tearing at me. I was terrified and so ran into the blackness screaming, clawing at anything that touched me.

They followed, tearing and ripping at me. Biting and snapping as I limped away, bleeding. I was continually attacked by the creatures until I could move and breathe no longer. Their snouts dug into my abdomen, but I was too numb to care. Death now held me firmly in her cold slender hands. I stared at a crack in part of what was left of the ceiling and waited to be done with this world, this torture. With wet snapping noise, everything ended.

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Fiction © Copyright Jaime Johnesee
Image courtesy of Pexels.com

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More from Jaime Johnesee:


Shifters: A Samantha Reece Mystery

When a serial killer begins leaving remains of victims in hotel bathtubs all over town FBI Agent Samantha Reece makes it her business to stop him.

This detective’s got an ace up her sleeve in the form of her ability to shift into the guise of a were panther. As she tracks down the cold-hearted murderer she also has to contend with an anti-shifter group determined to destroy her.

Not to mention the black jaguar who turned her decides to come sauntering back into her life.

Available on Amazon!

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

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

Posted on August 25, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Special Broadcast
by Kim Richards 

When the great walls of stone landed in the center of Oreander Park, Lizzie’s mother warned her against approaching them. The odd tremor in the woman’s voice lent a seriousness her daughter never heard before.

Lizzie listened to her mom at first–when many officials, scientists, and reporters buzzed around the park like flies. None of them could figure out where the slabs came from or who sent them. They examined, tested, theorized; a few implored the heavens; a small group gathered in prayer. Eventually, the novelty wore off and people stopped coming. The stones became as drab as they looked. Silent and still.

As others drifted away, Lizzie inched her way forward. A few steps each day in different directions, eventually circling the gray rectangles standing on end in rows. She saw enough space between them to walk. In fact, when she reached the edge of the square area they were erected upon, she noticed small paving stones set into the ground between them…a path calling her forward.

She gingerly pressed the toe of her pink sneakers atop the first paver. A slight tingle ran up her leg, enhancing her excitement. She stepped her whole foot and received another light tingle response. With a huge grin, she sprinted forward. Each jogging step gave the same delightful sensation as she wove in and around the monoliths. Why didn’t those other folks notice this? Did they not feel it?

Lizzie giggled. I’m special, she decided. She ran faster. With every step she sang, “S…P…E…C…I…A…L!” She ran her small hands along the cold, smooth surfaces of the stones, letting her fingertips drum upon them as she passed.

Suddenly the ground shifted, sending her tumbling forward. She skinned both her knees as she landed hard, also wrenching her left wrist. The tingling sensation intensified, joined by an electrical buzzing. Lizzie cried out as excitement turned to pain and grew from there.

The paving stones quaked beneath her body, too violent to allow her to stand. The air filled with acrid burning electricity like a lightning strike. With it came the heat and brilliant light as thick rays of energy spewed from the stones. The energy gathered into a single bolt, encompassing the little prone girl. Lizzy never felt her body incinerate. She died instantly when the bolt shot up into the sky and disappeared into the heavens. The first sacrifice of many as the broadcast turned alien eyes upon the Earth.

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Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Pexels.com

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

Posted on August 25, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Games We Play
by Angela Yuriko Smith

The pieces gleam in the moonlight, each figure holding the weight of battle, and the potential for blood. I sit across from you, silent, and slide my first pawn forward. A simple step, you take it, a minor sacrifice of minor flesh. Still, the loss stings and the air grows thick, suffocating me with tension as pieces leap, slide, and march with iron resolve. With each piece I lose, a finger or limb is claimed by you in the name of the game, house rules, you said, the sharp pain a reminder of the stakes. The queen falls, and so does my arm. You corner my king. My hand trembles, or what’s left of it, as I wait for the final blow. The king topples, and with it, sealed is my fate.

Empty sleeves
hang like forgotten flags—
checkmate in silence.

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

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

Posted on August 24, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Ghost Town
by Mary Ann Peden-Coviello 

The girl opened her eyes. She lay on the sidewalk, disoriented but unhurt, she thought. She checked. Yep, still wearing the same clothes as last night.

“Man, that was *some* party,” she said aloud. Her words echoed hollowly in the night air. She shivered. She sat up, trying to remember how she got here. Heck, trying to remember where “here” might even be. Unsteadily, she climbed to her feet, a bit wobbly on her stiletto heels.

She leaned against a house front while her head cleared. She didn’t think she’d done any drugs, only her usual cocktails, but she couldn’t be sure. She looked up and down the street. Nope, she’d never been here before.

Nice houses lined the street, well-kept. No lights on. Not even a front porch light or two to light the way for stragglers. On an impulse, she looked inside the big bay window of the brick two-story house she had been resting against.

Empty. Not a stick of furniture. Not a picture on the wall. Nothing.

She ran to the next house. Peeked in the nearest window. Another bare room. She darted from house to empty house, looking for someone. Anyone.

Completely alone. She hadn’t been on her own– without friends or at least other party-goers – for ages.

“Where is everyone? Who will I even talk to? What’ll I do?”

Alone. She felt the smile as it began to creep up from the corners of her mouth. This was a new experience. Fun, even.

She danced down the middle of the street, laughing and singing, not caring a whit that her singing was off-key and her laughter just a bit hysterical. She whirled and spun and kicked up her feet.

From an unseen observation post, the Demonic Supervisor for Section 9,410,208 subdivision Q284B watched the girl’s back as she cavorted down the deserted street. He did not turn to face his subordinate.

“I assume you recognize that this preposterous idea of yours to torment a gregarious damned soul with solitude has been less than successful.”

“Yes, sir.” The underling twisted in existential agony.  “If you’ll give me another chance, I’m certain I can tweak the environment to torture the subject more efficiently.”

Now the Demonic Supervisor did turn to glare at the sub-demon. “And when, I ask you, have second chances ever been handed out here?” His right hand lashed out, striking off the unfortunate underling’s head. Black blood fountained. Head, blood, and body sizzled away into ashes. “A waste of our Infernal Lord’s infinite time, that one. Now I’ll have to clean up this disaster before it comes to His attention. Can’t have all that,” he shuddered, “joy flapping around here like a flock of squawking canaries.”

And off he stalked to think of a proper torment for the party girl who’d died of a heart attack and ended up in a very odd sort of hell – for a while anyway.

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Fiction © Copyright Mary Ann Peden-Coviello
Image courtesy of Pexels.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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on August 24, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Abyss of Sorrow 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

The old cathedral stood for centuries, it’s dark corridors whispered of unspeakable horrors. Nathan, lured by the possibility of an adrenaline rush, ventured inside. The moment he crossed the threshold, the outside world ceased to exist.

The narrow, arched hallway was shrouded in darkness. The only dim light emanating at the end of the hallway was from a large, stained glass window that seemed to call to Nathan. The atmosphere was thick and oppressive, the stifling heat was almost unbearable. The scent of mildew and decay wafted through the air. Each step echoed ominously, it was as if the building was alive and listening.

As Nathan approached the windows, he felt an inexplicable pull. It was a compulsion to touch the glass. His fingers brushed the cold surface and the light seemed to grow brighter, casting long, eerie shadows that danced along the walls. It was then he heard it. A low guttural whisper, called his name.

Heart pounding, Nathan turned to leave, but the hallway had stretched impossibly long. He paused. The exit was now a distant memory. Panic surged through him. Beads of sweat formed at his brow. He continued to mindlessly stroke the glass like a lover, as a sharp piece of protruding metal from the panes sliced his palm open. Blood began to well up and drip onto the floor below.

The whispers grew louder, transforming into a chorus of agonized cries. Each voice was filled with torment and despair. His blood seeped into the cracks of the ancient stone floor. It vanished as if the cathedral itself were drinking it. Suddenly the ground trembled. A large fissure opened at Nathan’s feet. From the darkness below, a demonic entity emerged. Its massive ram’s horns almost touched the ceiling and its eyes burned with a malevolent hunger.The smell of sulfur swirled around the beast. It towered over Nathan, its form shifting and writhing as if it were made of shadows and flame. The air around him became filled with static as it crackled and hummed with dark energy.

The demon’s voice was a symphony of terror that echoed through the hallway. “You have awakened me.” It hissed. “Your blood has sealed your fate.”

Nathan stumbled backward, sheer terror blurred his vision. The demon’s clawed hand reached out. With a swift, brutal motion it seized Nathan by the throat. His screams were cut short as the demon effortlessly lifted him into the air. Its grip was like iron.

The demon dragged Nathan toward the fissure, its laughter mingling with the cathedral’s sinister whispers. As he was pulled down into the abyss, Nathan’s mind shattered, consumed by the horrors that awaited him.

The old cathedral stood silent once more, a beacon for the damned. It awaited its next victim. The light from the stained glass flickered briefly, as if mocking the hope that it once offered.

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Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pexels.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 Amanda Worthington @AmandaW58679588 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on August 23, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Architect of the Damned
by Amanda Worthington

The girl weaves easily in and out of the columns

Like so much bright thread on a loom

Twisting this way and that

Knitting a silvery path amongst the dark tombs

Those towers in tribute to the dead

Fortunate enough to lie concealed

Beneath the finite earth

Rather than be burned.

.

Disposal of corpses is mostly an afterthought these days

Monuments are for those not in survival mode

Those whose bones deserve consecration

Those whose passing is not seen as casualty

But calamity

.

Death stops for no one

So it’s best to stay in motion

.

The girl Stops only long enough to press her sweaty brow

against the cool granite

And breathe

.

She does not immediately recognize the voice

When her grandmother starts to speak

The family has fallen from grace

Their bodies will have no place beside her remains

They are whores and conmen and exceptional thieves

Their matriarch all but forgotten

.

The girl found a picture of her once

In an old album

And asked questions that no one looked comfortable answering

.

They told her to go play and leave the dead be

Still, they brought her to visit this monstrosity

That was the deceased’s grave

.

It was enough concrete to house dozens

Condemned to life on the streets

.

Avenge me, Maria

Bring me Giuseppe’s ear

And Antony’s eye

Luca’s brain

And Mateo’s heart

.

“And in whose body shall they be put?”

The girl manages, fear gripping her

.

Oh, Maria

I envy your speed

And your dynamism

 I would war in that form if you’d have me

.

Somewhere, a blonde girl with an ancestor whose skin

Is the color of coffee

Whose own flesh is like the creamer without the brew

This strange girl with the dead in her mind

Readies her blade

And approaches the men who have already decided her trade

.othing cuts like the Unexpected.

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

Posted on August 23, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

In the shadow of the king  
by Alex Grehy

I do not know my Sire’s name,

nor do I know his queen,

yet I must bow and sing his praise

each dawn and dusk, it seems.

.

I like will never see his face,

nor will he ask of me,

when he takes my sons to war for him

across the great blue sea.

.

I doubt my Sire knows the names

of those conscripted youths, 

nor will he heed lists of the dead,

and their bitter truths

.

The King, no doubt, orders minions,

his caring is a sham, 

to dash the hopes of parents, 

with unsigned telegrams.

.

I would my King could spare a tear

for the fate of my late wife

whose grief festered, overwhelmed,

took her joy and then her life.

.

The King, on his solitary throne, proclaims

he knows our loss and understands,

shares the loneliness of our pain,

scatters comfort from his empty hands

.

Does my liege sit in the silent dark,

existence shrunken as a mouse,

heart beating like a hollow drum, 

all alone in an empty house?

.

Is my King’s life weighted with regret?

Does he brood on how his victory 

was built on the ruins of young men’s lives,

or is he celebratory?

.

I hear my Sire plans a fine parade,

The people’s will, they say,

to bring some cheer to blighted lives,

move us on to a bright new day.

.

My Sire does not know my name,

If I succeed, he never will,

I will have justice where his mercy failed,

when his blood is justly spilled.

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Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pexels.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

147443997_865719290883677_3441953034998826390_n

After a lifetime of writing technical non-fiction, Alex Grey is fulfilling her dream of writing poems and stories that engage the reader’s emotions. Her work has been featured by a wide range of publications including Siren’s Call, Raconteur, Bookends Review, and Toasted Cheese. One of her comic poems is also available via a worldwide network of public fiction dispensers managed by French publisher, Short Edition. Her ingredients for contentment are narrow boating, greyhounds, singing and chocolate. It is a sweet life, yet Alex’ original view of the world has led to her best friend to say ‘For someone so lovely, you’re very twisted!

Please click here to discover more!   

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alyson Faye @AlysonFaye2 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on August 22, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


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Dead-light
by Alyson Faye 

She runs through the dusk-drenched corridors, a shadow amongst many, half-awake, half-asleep, knowing only that she must escape, but from whom or what? She tries to remember – images pluck at her, a child crying, a violin cracking, a man snarling abuse . . .

Run, flee, hide …

The ball gown streams behind her; her heels tap out a staccato rhythm :- help, hide, hush hush baby, don’t cry . . .

The moon is the only light. Every room she passes is empty, each door barred, the outside world glimpsed but unreachable.

‘Ma-ri- ia . . . where are you?’ A man’s voice, deep, echoing.

Maria? Is that my name?

Her hands touch the silk of her dress, feeling a tacky substance, and she knows in that moment – blood. She wipes her fingers on the floors, on the doors, smearing wild stripes, in a viscous tarry ink.

‘Maria, I am coming . . .’

Somewhere ahead of her a violin wheezes into life, out of tune, screeching. A child cries out. ‘Momma!’

Her chest constricts, her head aches and fear owns her. The corridor twists to the right, a door creaks open, grey dead-light seeps out – a man’s shadow filling the doorway.

‘Maria, you have to finish your recital.’

‘Momma, where are you?’ The boy’s voice cracks, just as the violin reaches its nerve grating crescendo.

And Maria stops running.

She pushes open the door, feels the brass handle slip beneath bloodied fingers and inside she sees – Lukas – my son.

The boy cowers behind the hunchbacked sofa, the man looming above him.

Don’t hurt him! Maria cries out, but hears only a whisper.

The violin smashes into the table, glass shards strew the carpet, the pictures hang at crazy angles, the darkness of the night is here in this room, with the three of them – hungry, avid.

‘You will never leave me, Maria.’

And she knows what she must do.

Run Lukas, run.

Her son lurches to his feet, dashing for the door, collides with her but breaks free  . . . Maria picks up the silver letter opener, and runs towards . . .  Matthias. How had she forgotten the name of her late husband? She lunges at his chest, aiming for the heart though she knows there is nothing inside him but emptiness.

Matthias, swaying above her, florid with drink, fuelled by fury, but still flesh, and bone. The blade slips in, slim and brutal, slicing into his heart.

Maria keeps stabbing, at his neck, face, torso. Blood spurts from arteries, onto her silk gown, her expensive designer dress. Her hands slick with it.

‘Momma?’ Lukas stares at her from the doorway, ‘is that you?’

Maria does not know how to answer. Her son turns from her and flees.

No, wait, it’s your momma. I love you.

She runs after him, down corridors lit by a waning moon, in a blood-soaked ball gown, heels tapping – help, hide, run, hush hush baby boy . . . but Lukas eludes her, she cannot catch him, she cannot hold him tight, she cannot breathe . . . she can only run . . .

half-awake, half-asleep

one more shadow amongst many –

Fiction © Copyright Alyson Faye
Image courtesy of Pexels.com

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More from Alyson Faye:

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The Lost Girl & Spindleshanks

The Lost Girl
A nailed-up door. An inheritance which comes with a ghost. A missing girl. A fifty-year-old mystery. Parapsychologist Berkley Osgood is hired to investigate. What he uncovers reveals secrets the living want to hide and the dead will never forgive.

Spindleshanks
Adam is having nightmares about a skeletal shadow figure, who he calls Spindleshanks. Soon his whole class are sharing the same nightmare. Adam’s dad, Rob, knows that Spindleshanks can’t be real. But is he? One terrible night Rob has to face his son’s nightmare creature and fight for his son’s life. What would you sacrifice to have your child back safe?

“A decent two-for-one. Alyson Faye brings the engaging and eerie in equal measure.” CC Adams – horror / dark fiction author

Available on Amazon!

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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 Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on August 22, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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My Body is a Haunted House 
by Elaine Pascale 

My body is a haunted house with

wallpaper sagging in strips.

A Y-shaped incision begins at each of my shoulder blades and travels to my pubic bone.

The skin is peeled back to expose the structure that has been hidden for so long.

To expose me; naked in a way I have never been naked before.

.

My body is a haunted house.

The archway where lovers once strode and gazed from the window to the carpet

of flowers below, that archway lies trapped between my ribs.

As those bones are sawed apart, I wonder if it truly were lovers looking

at flowers

or

one in love and one lost in a devious plan.

.

My body is a haunted house.

The cobwebbed master bedroom is demolished as my still

heart is removed and weighed. And weighed again. The numbers on the scale

do not tell the story of how I ended up

on the autopsy table any more than the cold, heavy heart tells of a love lost.

.

My body is a haunted house where

the eerie echoes are silenced as my throat is cut to examine the trachea. The larynx is removed, silencing my witness. I can’t tell the judge and jury what happened; I have to rely on my organs, on the pieces of my fleshy residence, to speak for themselves.

.

My body is a haunted house decorated with creepy carpeting in the form of a spongy tongue. The pink shag a pathway for poison. Do they note that the pink is now black? Do they see how the furry top has now sunken in on itself, shameful with no reason for feeling shame?

.

My body is a haunted house.

The gothic sconces are extinguished as the thread is pulled through my eyelids. Open, dead

eyes are a crowd pleaser, an amusement for those wishing to be scared. They are not desired by the coroner who wants

only answers and no reminder of what was before.

.

My body is a haunted house.

The saw is taken to the door of my library where my memories line

long shelves. Some memories have worn covers and cracked bindings. Others

are locked, preserved, shielded.  The saw aggravates the strong security I have in place, it

tries to force me to confront…

.
Deep in the recesses of the attic is the showstopper. This is the final

jump scare, the fright that justifies the cost of admission.

This is where the ghost of a girl who once believed she had love is seen, wraithlike and ghoulish

and transparent as never before.

.

Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pexels.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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