Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author R.A. Clarke @RAClarkeWrites @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 29, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Ripples 
by R.A. Clarke 

Come closer, child.

Don’t be afraid.

Walk down the path

and you’ll find me.

Neither creature nor spirit, 

nay, I’m far more than that.

I am a pool of distinction,

been here for centuries.

Pristine and private,

my waters are clear,

shallow and warm.

Call me Aquamarine—

humble offerer of deals.

If you need to cleanse.

Don’t fight the flow.

Wash your cares away.

Just step in—dip a toe.

Plunge your weary soul

into my waiting depths.

Drown your sorrows.

Submerge, then drink.

Quench your thirst.

Taste of my power.

Let me soothe your aches,

numb all your burdens.

Fill yourself to the brim.

I promise you’ll not miss

what I take from you

as payment for rapture.

It will be replaced in full

with everything you desire.

All you’ve ever dreamed. 

You shall want for nothing

and feel only pleasure.

It’s only once I’ve slurped

every drop of anguish

that our deal will end—

our exchange completed.

But, my sweetness,

won’t it be worth it?

To be free of your woes?

I vow to hold you dear

until your last breath…

But that will feel like

a lifetime from now.

Trust me—guzzle me

That’s it. Bind our fates

and grasp your bliss.

Now rise tall and radiant. 

Emerge effervescent,

shimmering, clean.

Yes, my lovely, yes.

And now off you go!

Stride into your future.

Embrace it and live well.

Let my memory fade.

I’ll be here, content

to suckle and savour

your hastily traded pain.

Do not waste my gift…

For you haven’t as long,

as you might believe.

My hunger is ravenous.

You’ll feed me for a week.

Maybe two—if you’re lucky.

Wither and rot will show

when your well runs dry.

And I shall simply bask.

My win warms my waters.

Triumphant currents swirl.

My glassy surface breaks,

glistening as it ripples.

.

Fiction © Copyright R.A. Clarke
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from author R.A. Clarke:

RAClarke_RaceToNovus

A daughter’s last chance at redemption on an alien planet. A sweeping secret that could not only end her dreams, but her life as well.

Finn Rucker boards the starship to seek a fresh start as part of a colonizing effort on Joya. The race, sponsored by Governus, yields free land and startup funds for the lucky winners. The number of entrants guarantees someone is going to lose and Finn is determined that she and her bionic horse, Herc, are among the winners.

Racing through uncharted jungle to the settlement of Novus, Finn and her fellow racers soon discover that not everything is as it seems – and Governus withheld information from the contestants. Strange beasts attack the racers, mechanical equipment begins to fail, and the very air seems out to get them.

When all seems lost, a mysterious people arrive and help the racers, revealing the depth of Governus’ deception. Finn will have to keep her pulse pistols close and her new friends closer – but not too close – as they all race to survive the jungle.

You will love this mashup of Hidalgo and James Cameron’s Avatar as Finn navigates the guilt of her past, the promise of a future, and the imminent dangers of her present.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Nina D’Arcangela @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 29, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Morning Coffee
by Nina D’Arcangela

She was always one for long walks. She’d wake before me each morning, head down to greet the day no matter the weather. It was 196 steps from our loft to the huge metal door that barred us from the world. I could spend my life shut away, but not her. She needed the outside. Needed the ground beneath her feet, to feel the wind’s ferocious roar, watch the waves crash in chaotic rhythm against the rocks. I watched her many mornings through the glass of the now-defunct lantern room. She’d return from her two-hour long walk and sit on the rocks thinking whatever her thoughts brought that day. She’d come in shivering, say the spray added a freshness to her hair she couldn’t live without. As much as I loved her, I always caught a hint of wet dog when she returned wearing that damp woolen coat she loved so much.

196 steps – that’s a long way down. To be honest, the steps made me nervous and the clang of them shot vibrations through my heart every time she walked up or down; I swore they’d be the death of me.  

Winter had just given way to a damp and miserable Spring. I was up earlier than usual that morning – the morning it all happened. Having brewed a pot of coffee, I was curled up in a chair gazing out the lantern room windows when I saw her return. It felt a little creepy watching her private moments, but it also felt warm and comforting, like a secret we shared, though only I knew about it.

I watched as she knelt for a moment, dug around in her coat, then took it off and laid it on the rocks. As I continued to watch, she dropped a foot into a tiny crevasse and began to descend. Putting my coffee down, I leaned forward, hands pressed to the glass. She must have dropped something and was looking for it, sparing her coat the soaking it would surely get if she left it on. But as she neared a twist, she turned and glanced up at me. Then she did the oddest thing, she waved. I was shocked, a huge smile lit my face and I began to wave back, but she couldn’t see it, she was waving to the lighthouse. Palms pressed against the window again, I tried to keep her in sight, the ridiculous grin fading. A few heartbeats passed, it felt like hours, her blonde hair just visible between the massive boulders. Then nothing. I stared, dull of mind, not able to comprehend what had just happened. Then I knew… or rather, saw.

A huge wave breached the break, and there amongst the receding water was her limp body being dragged back to the sea, only to be battered against the rocks by the in-rushing tide again and again.

I screamed, knocked both the coffee and the table it was resting on over in my haste to make it back down to the loft. Not stopping, I cleared the space in a blink, threw the door open and began running down the metal treads barefoot.

I flew down the stairs, clanging and banging the entire way. 172 steps down, I slipped. I tried to grab the railing, but luck was not on my side. My tumble stopped three steps short of the bottom. I stood to continue, but my legs wouldn’t support me.

One sob, that’s all I got. One truly unjust sob before my head hit the concrete floor and my skull cracked open.

.

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More from Nina D’Arcangela:

Mental Ward: EXPERIMENTS

A dank basement, shadow filled hallways, the deep echo of a metal latch being thrown while faint screams are heard… These are the things you might experience in a place where the unspeakable happens, where conscientious action and moral turpitude turn a blind eye in the interest of advancing one’s own personal pursuits in the most deranged and unjustifiable manner. The type of place where power corrupts, and depravity runs rampant among those imbued with it. A place where the unfortunate are abandoned to the devices of those who convince themselves their actions are in the best interest of science.

Mental Ward: Experiments is a collection of ten short stories that demonstrate the worst of humanity’s ambition in the interest of ‘civilized’ advancement. Step into a world where sanity is left behind, and horror is what the doctor ordered!

Available on Amazon!

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

Posted on May 28, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Stairs to Nowhere 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

It was a crisp October evening when I found the stairs. They started abruptly at the edge of the forest, leading down into the dark, tangled undergrowth. The sun’s dappled sunlight shone majestically through the bountiful branches. Curious and emboldened by the fading sunlight, I descended.

The stairs creaked and groaned underfoot, each step resonating like a whisper in the trees. The forest seemed to swallow the sound, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. I noticed the wood of the stairs, ancient with moss covering the edges. The air grew colder with every step.

I’d heard the stories, of course. Everyone in town knew about the stairs that appeared out of nowhere and led to nowhere good. The legends spoke of disappearances of those that ventured down and never returned. But stories were just that – stories. I needed to see for myself.

About halfway down, the light dimmed significantly and the canopy above thickened. The trees loomed closer. Their branches reached out like skeletal fingers. An unnatural chill swept up my spine and I paused. I actually thought of turning back but the stairs seemed to pull me forward. An invisible force that urged me to continue. As I descended further, I noticed the forest floor was no longer visible. A dense fog had rolled in, swirling around the base of the stairs like a living entity. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in the silence. Then, I saw them. Shadows moving in the mist. I strained to see but they were elusive, flickering in and out of existence.

I heard a voice, indistinct and ghostly, calling my name. Panic surged through me, but I couldn’t turn back now. I was too far in. The voice grew louder, more insistent. I quickened my pace, the stairs groaned louder in protest. Suddenly the fog parted and I found myself in a small clearing. In the center stood a dilapidated house, its windows dark and devoid of life. The stairs ended sharply at the entrance, as if depositing me at the doorstep of some unforgotten realm. The voice that was calling my name was now clearer and coming from inside.

Against my better judgment, I push open the creaking door. The interior was dark and the air was thick with the scent of decay. I took a cautious step inside and the door slammed shut behind me. I was enveloped in darkness, the voice now a whisper in my ear.

“You shouldn’t have come,” it said.

I turned to leave but the door was gone, replaced by a solid wall. Panic clawed at me as I fumbled for an exit, any exit. The voice continued, its icy breath on my neck. “They all come down the stairs,” it hissed. “But none of them ever leave.”

I realized then that the stories were true. The stairs didn’t lead deeper into the forest, they led to a place far darker. A place where shadows lived and voices called. A place where escape was impossible. I was trapped, another victim of the wooden stairs that led the curious and the brave to their doom.

As I sit here and write this, the darkness closes in. I can hear the faint creaking of the stairs above, beckoning another soul into the depths of the haunted woods.

.

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 Alyson Faye @AlysonFaye2 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 27, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


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The Summerhouse
by Alyson Faye 

Greg had his video camera out, pointing it at Amber, his latest girlfriend as she drove the stolen BMW down the main road. They were both laughing, her long blonde hair flying in the cool night breeze. Both were buzzing with the thrill of the theft, the car’s speed and capturing it all on film.

‘Ain’t no one ever gonna catch us,’ Greg crowed. ‘I’m gonna make you a YouTube star, babe.’

Amber was more concerned with showing her best camera angle. ‘Greg, darling, don’t film  from underneath up my nose, idiot!’ She flicked her long mane of hair.

Their home town of Danesville (christened ‘Dullsville’ by the town’s youth) flashed by in a blur. Then they were out the other side heading towards the countryside and Dennison Woods, named the town’s founder, one Edward Dennison Dane who’d planted the copse back in the 1790s. Dennison had enjoyed taking his pretty, very young bride to his private chalet there. Rumour also had it that this same upstanding citizen abducted his enemies and buried them in the rich, dark soil.

But hey, that was just tittle tattle, gossip, even defamatory PR, not the truth. No one believed it.

There was a light mist rising on the road to the woods, and a weird blue glow in the night sky. The temperature was noticeably cooler.

‘Those trees are well creepy,’ Amber said. ‘Those branches are thick like arms. I don’t like it here.’

At her words the BMW’s engine coughed, once, spasmed and expired.

‘Shit!’ Amber turned the ignition, on/off – nothing. ‘Greg . . .’  she wailed. ‘Stop filming me. We’re stuck. Do something.’

Her boyfriend shrugged. ‘I’m no mechanic, babe. We’ll have to take the short cut back into town . . .’

‘Through the woods? No way.’ Amber shook her head.

‘OK, stay here then.’

Greg climbed out of the car, and strolled into the bushes huddled at the roadside. He vanished.

Amber freaked out and scrambled after him, crying, and stumbling, falling face first into the shrubbery. ‘Wait for me!’ A minute or two went by.

Greg suddenly appeared at her side,  now outlined by the same weird blue light that illuminated the woods. He pulled her to her feet, grinning.

‘NOT FUNNY!’ she yelled.

The air pressed down heavier and smelt of – chlorine, like at the town’s swimming pool. Amber’s breath materialised in puffs of icy smoke, and her clothes were soon damp.

‘I don’t like this . . .’ she whined, close to tears.

Greg shrugged. And kept walking. Oddly he had barely spoken since he’d done his vanishing act.

‘Greg? Babe? Please slow down.’

He walked on, as though he knew the path off by heart, or was following a signal. Amber had no choice but to follow him.

‘Welcome to my summerhouse,’ Greg stopped, waving an arm towards a freshly-painted, colonnaded summerhouse nestling in a grove. His figure shimmered in the blue light,  his clothes faded, replaced by breeches, white shirt with a frothy cravat and high black boots. His hair grew darker, curlier, his chin jutted fiercer.

‘Greg? Is that you?’ Amber pulled back, nervous, wary. ‘What’s this place. I never knew it was here.’

Greg closed in on her, took her hand, kissed the back of it, bowed and tugged Amber towards the summerhouse. From inside came the tinkling sounds of a music box. Amber glimpsed a chaise longue covered in red velvet. Gold statues clustered around it.

It’s like a love nest, Amber thought.

Her long skirts swished through the leaves, and touching her head, she discovered her hair was now pinned up. I’m going mad. It’s all a dream.

‘Sweet Madeline, come and be mine,’ Greg’s voice was older, more formal.

The trees created a bower above the summerhouse; the branches, laden with cerulean blossoms, bent down.

Welcome … the wind whispered, join us…

Amber’s head swam, her limbs were heavy, like a puppet following its master, she went to Greg, whose face she no longer recognised. He was older, crueller, feral even.

Behind her the gnarly, bark-encrusted branches stretched, elongated and embraced each other, blocking the exit to the grove, her escape path. Creating a cocoon . . .

In her head Amber heard their bark breaths, the sap rushing and Dennison’s honeyed tones –

‘Come lie with me.’

.
Fiction © Copyright Alyson Faye
Image courtesy of Pixabay.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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Amy Zoellers @breakfastpoet @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 27, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Bone Fold
by Amy Zoellers 

Gong: hollow echo of footsteps on moss-grown iron

Descent on staircase, spiral with invading flora

Gray echoes gray echoes gray

—gray hand dead on stair rail, gray,

–gray head, streaked white with omens,

Rituals

A ritual descent

A thrilling fervor echos in the woods

An omen.

Tonight, a moon of egress,

Emergence from shadow and moss

An approaching song of vengeance

twisting for the home of the infancy

of this entity—

A pool of horrors

A bath of misery.

The culprits long moss-grown dust

And whoever stumbles nearest there

Tonight

meets what has grown from evil.

Meets with the ire of pain,

Only bumbling ruin.

.

Fiction © Copyright Amy Zoellers
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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More from Amy Zoellers:

OrdealInFrenchLipstick

Ordeal in French Lipstick

Art! Fun!! Poetry and song! Portraits, dolls, prints, jewelry… and so much more! Find Amy on Instagram:  Hipness and Outrage 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elizabeth H. Smith @bethsmithwrites @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 26, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Ceaseless Despair of Hope
by Elizabeth H. Smith

At least six days have passed. But I could be off by one or two. The seemingly endless pursuit of civilization, down a path that never seems to change, takes a toll. It never turns or shifts in pitch or elevation. I figure it must lead somewhere. But I could be wrong about that too.

Maybe I died miles back and my body is lying face down in the snow. Maybe this is Hell.

But my will to survive keeps me going. My father told me if I’m ever lost in the woods, find a point of direction and follow it. That way you won’t go in circles. This path seemed like my best bet at getting out alive. So I chose a direction and kept going.

But the landscape never changes, the mist never lifts, and the road ahead goes on some unknown distance, perhaps forever…

.

Fiction © Copyright Elizabeth H. Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay
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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 Kendra Smart @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 26, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Path Less Traveled 
by Kendra Smart 

The origin of The Path had long been lost. It wouldn’t even be fair to say that there were secret conversations held with fast pulsing hearts and hushed voices. No campfire stories, no legends of old. No, the story of The Path had been entrusted to her and her alone. For it was through Donna that the story of The Path would begin again. Many knew about the ceremony, but the story wasn’t for them to know, only for the town to gather, that was their only purpose. 

Like the cliff sides that bordered their town, time had worn away at the youth that Donna had once held. At ninety three years old Donna Montgomery looked far different than she had eighty five years ago when she had been chosen to lead the town.The Path had shown her the way and her faith remained unwavering as she watched the children entering the forest in a parade of white.

She felt the wind catch up to her in the clearing where she waited. Her silken silver dancing upon the breeze was beautiful, it also made her draw her crocheted scarf closer to her small but still able frame. The clearing had been decorated with care by the denizens of the rural town of Leahma. She stood slightly elevated behind the ornate oaken podium that literally spewed forth from the Earth. There was power here. More than they knew but it was almost time to begin. 

She stood as the only Elder left in Leahma. But The Path had ensured that there had been no other way. For their town to thrive, a deal had been crafted. Once every eighty five years a ceremony must happen. The parade in white had almost made their way to her, she reflected on the uncomfortably starched formal gown that she too had once worn. As they stopped in front of her and the other members of town made their way to the clearing as well, Donna knew there was no more time for reflection in the past. It was the present  and she should be present for it.

 “Eighty-Five years ago I stood where you are, dressed as you are. You are nervous, perhaps scared. All of that is normal. Let me tell you The Path’s true purpose. The Path is a trial, one that at its end will crown our next leader. The Path is a true gift left to us by the settlers of this town. 

The Path holds no bias and chooses whomever it feels is the best among us to keep our town safe, the fields prosperous, for another eighty-five years until it is time for the next parade. 

The beginning of The Path used to look like rail lines, that was our source of finance. But the world changes, time shifts and forces us to adapt or decline. The Path for me was harrowing but I had faith that what was to be was destined to be.”

Donna paused, she looked at the adults and that look said everything. They moved to take their places here and there, scattered along the way to the end. As she looked back, she brought her best smile out. The one that defined the crinkles around her eyes. 

“At the end of The Path you will find me. I look forward to meeting my replacement. The Path will provide.”

The ones before her knew their role to this point and parroted her words. They took their steps to the beginning of The Path. Sun setting and lanterns to light their way, Donna began her journey to the end of The Path to wait. 

She found her throne lit and the table ready. The book was opened to the beginning of the knowledge that would be passed along. Donna had made her own additions to the heavy tome. There next to it shone a metal blade. Against the firelight the grooves and etches in the blades seemed to move. Alive. 

There would be only one to make it down The Path. Only one to succeed her. Those poised along the way would provide the ampoules to be possessed by those ready to take the less worthy out of the fray and as sacrifice. She could hear the screams now. Donna’s heart beat as it hadn’t in years. She knew those screams. 

A myriad of images slammed her brain as she remembered her own journey down The Path. 

It took half an hour before the screams had stopped and one child had stepped forward to the end of The Path. 

The Path had chosen.

She knew that look, his hollow eyes. She waited patiently as he sized her up. Blessed, it happened fast. She barely had time to gasp as the blade hit home. 

Her soul knew peace as the demon gleefully took its new vessel. 

“The Path provides.” Donna whispered as darkness crept in.

The hollow eyes told her that like Donna, the boy now knew the story of The Path. A voice answered her in the darkness. 

“The Path Provides.”

.
 
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 Ela Lourenco @ElaLourenco @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 25, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Unknown 
by Ela Lourenco 

The green light calls to me

Hypnotising me as I head

Towards the unknown.

The last daughter of my mother’s line

It is my destiny

My fate to leave behind

All that is known to me.

The only certainty I have

Is that I will never see my family again.

So it is and so it has always been.

I know not what awaits me beyond the clearing.

I have spent my entire life fearing this moment

And yet now the fear burns me,

First a flicker, now it threatens to consume me

From the inside out.

As I reach the point of no return

I lean into the fire and let it burn…

.

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Fiction © Copyright Ela Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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More from Ela Lourenco:

awakeningDragon Born: Book Three
Awakening

The Royal tournament, the Karnac, is fully underway. But there is deception and betrayal at every turn. Unseen dark forces are at play, both within the school grounds and out with. Even the Gods are unable to help when a new threat looms over them all.The very existence of Azmantium depends on Lara fully becoming the Child of Fire and casting aside the Shadows lurking in every corner of her beloved planet.Can she overcome the challenges that await? Will the Shadows cover the world in darkness? Only Lara and her friends can change the fate of Azmantium.

Available on Amazon!

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

Posted on May 25, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Fibonacci Spiral into Madness
by Amanda Worthington

This place is being reclaimed

He knows he is nutrient rich

As the stone is not

Feels their tendrils reach to caress his bare feet

As he descends

.

They are hungry.

.

Each step induces a kind of madness

He sees and hears a million things

That cannot be said, but only felt

Heartbreak that no phoneme can clarify

Darkness no light can breach

Tones that cannot be sung

That manifest in his body as vibrations from some other realm

Unreachable by ordinary means.

.

He knows it is not the structure

But the creatures that overwhelm it

The things that have made

their home in its crevices

.

The woe of each stair

Is the sum of the two that have preceded it

And even in this low lighting

The greenery is devastating.

He is halfway down

And little more than charcoal smudges and smoke

The outline of a man

Nearly at the chasm of calamity

Ready to face down the worst in himself

So that he can bring the best back up to the surface

Where people are dying.

.

Of course, his people are already gone

Driven mad by the green things

Mowed down with bullets as they tore away

Just enough meat from the already-dead man

To keep the family fed

.

There are no guns here

Only time and desperation

And the barely contained hunger

Of the things that will devour him if he fails

To look upon their master

Or if his plea is not heard

Or if his plea is heard and refused.

.

So many ways to fall.

.

With a deep breath,

He takes the next step.

.

.

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

Posted on May 24, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Fade to White 
by Lee Mitchell  

I thought I’d thought the decision all the way through. It had made perfect sense at the time. My thoughts had been rushed and overwhelmed, though; I was so caught up in so many cumulative little things, and I’d become so tired. That alone had been enough to skew my perspective, so nothing else mattered—not even any of the things that should have.

The frozen wilderness felt fitting. Lonely. Empty. Tears turned to ice.

I’d considered the pilgrimage many times before, romanticized my trek through the pristine snow, the flocked pines my only witness as I wandered off to my final resting spot. Long beyond my abandoned car on the roadside, gas tank empty, I walked. I continued until my frost-bitten feet could no longer move me forward, and then I collapsed into the cold bed before me, turned to my back, and considered all the heaviness I planned to leave behind as darkness crept over the ridge and stars filled the night sky.

But as the reality of my decision sank in, my body no longer able to rush back to safety, all I could think about was what had already fallen so far away: my soft, warm bed; my beautiful home that I had worked so hard for; the pleasure of a hot bath; an exceptional meal; a good cup of coffee; the handful of people who would truly mourn my absence.

I had felt so invisible that disappearing for real seemed the only option. But now, as the snow falls and my body fades to white, I realize how wrong I was. My life wasn’t a show dependent on others’ ratings or contingent upon my acceptance or popularity in this world; it was a gift, a fleeting ride that I’d sought to control and had mistakenly assumed was supposed to be fair.

Heart heavier than ever, my soul aching with regret and remorse, I scream desperately into the cold, empty darkness for help. But my body burns and the snow falls and I slowly become one with the ice.

And the darkness laughs back.

.

Fiction © Copyright Lee Mitchell.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Lee Mitchell:

LeeMitchell_TheDivineDarknessAlisha 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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