Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzie Lockhart @SuzieNBruce2 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Taboo 
by Suzie Lockhart 

I know what I project…on the outside. I’ve seen my cool, composed look in author photos, and in the mirror; the presentation is a mere reflection, telling my readers who I imagine they want to see.

They devour my novels, the morbid tales I weave within those pages.

I don’t allow my audience access to the truth.

No… I wouldn’t want them to know, to have any idea what kind of guilt I carry with each and every word I pen. Of course not. I hide behind my tinted designer frames. Distract you with my expensive, elegant weave and big platinum hoops.

Humiliation would fill every pore if my public discovered that my own family refers to me as an evil, vile wretch. They mean it quite literally… I believe Mama and Grandmama Thelma and Auntie Bee would be glad to see me burned at the stake. At least relieved. I am an embarrassment to my own kinsfolk, a blight on the family tree.

Why do I let it bother me? The wealthy, award-winning author whose books have been made into movies.

Mama told me I’ve cursed my great grandma’s immortal soul, because I incorporate stories she’d terrified me with during my youth, scaring me with her villainous tales. It is true she would give me nightmares…but I was always compelled to listen to more; she certainly aided in molding the author I am today. Once I wrote her stories in my journal, the nightmares would stop.

And I loved her, because she seemed to understand me better than most.

My fans would laugh if they knew the truth of the matter. My great-grandma, Grammy Jean, told me, after my first book was picked up by a major Literary Agent… Yes, she was still alive then. She told me God gave her a vision, one of me telling her tales and becoming famous. She had not been able to pen her stories, but had known of my ability to spin her tales into great horror novels for a long time. I couldn’t believe her vision happened when I was only four!

She is the only one I’d allowed to read my first book before it was published.

She was in the hospital, holding the newly printed novel to her chest when she died. Almost poetic, I know…but true. That is how proud of me she was.

But when the rest of my family began reading my books, the backlash was more horrific than the stories.

“You’re goin’ straight to Hell if you keep writing about this stuff.” My own mother had told me that. It was just the beginning. The rest of what she’d said still haunts me.

At times the despair is almost too heavy to bear. Nobody from Mama’s side will talk to me, and only one cousin from my dad’s side. I was young when he died.

I huddle under my comforting blanket, staring at the sleeping pills on my nightstand.

I wonder if I should have ever spun those dark tales, turning them into the novels that have helped me amass the sort of generational wealth many only dream about.

But for this sister…it comes at a price; the nightmares that terrorize me are worse than anything I have ever written. The twisted ache in my gut has me considering whether or not to face tomorrow, or any of the days that follow.

Besides, having kids of my own seems unlikely. I have no desire to drag a decent man into my trauma… And a man that isn’t truly good and understanding would not last with me. The dive into researching subjects that would make most sleep with lights on, has taught me a way to rid myself of unwanted problems.

There is probably one group that would mourn my absence.

My tribe.

No, not family, and eventually fans would forget.

It’s another group of women who write unseemly stories of dark taboos. They are the only ones who’d understand. Some might even miss me.

Those other women…who write horror.

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Fiction © Copyright Suzie Lockhart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Suzie Lockhart:

Morbid Metamorphosis:
Terrifying Tales of Transformation

Metamorphosis occurs every day as caterpillars become sweet fluttering butterflies, tadpoles become gorgeous frog princes and chameleons become one with the beauty of nature – but you won’t find any of that here.

The transformations you’re about to witness are unnatural, sometimes gruesome and deeply psychological. They will make you question reality and take your mind places it was never meant to go.

Terrifying Tales of Transformation from Greg Chapman * Roy C. Booth & R. Thomas Riley * Terri DelCampo * Dave Gammon * Nancy Kilpatrick * Rod Marsden * Jo-Anne Russell * M.J. Preston * Stacey Turner * Tina Piney * Suzanne Robb * Franklin E. Wales * Donna Marie West * Suzie Lockhart * Cameron Trost * Daniel I. Russell * Simon Dewar * Amanda J. Spedding * Ken MacGregor * Erin Shaw * Gregory L. Norris * Nickolas Furr

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Asena Lourenco @ElaLourenco @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Artificial Red 
by Asena Lourenco 

Delicate petals surrounded perfect ruby coils

Adorned by supporting leafy greens.

Her mossy eyes twinkled in the sunlight 

framed by scarlet strands of every means,

Her soft freckles caressed porcelain skin,

Her curls a hint of warmth against the dead,

telling of no joy or warmth themselves,

but displayed such an illusion of artificial red.

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Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More about Asena Lourenco:

AsenaLourenco_2024Asena Lourenco is sixteen years old. She loves playing hockey, singing, and playing piano.

She began writing short stories and poetry at a very early age, and has been writing with The Ladies of Horror Picture-prompt Challenge since she was ten!

As the youngest member of The Ladies of Horror troupe, Asena has an uncanny command of language and has handled each challenge with grace, enthusiasm, and an aptitude far beyond her years.

 

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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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Simply the Best 
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

What do you see when you look at me? Confident beauty? Elegance incarnate? A woman in the prime of life who knows who she is and what she wants, and will let nothing stand in the way of her getting it?

You are so easy to fool.

It’s taken me years to learn the craft of illusion, though, so I shouldn’t be too hard on you. When I was a simple hedge witch in the wilds of the moors, no one perceived me as a beauty. Who could blame them, with all the filth I wallowed in? Life was hard for the wife of a stableman who found perfect contentment in letting me muck out the stables and tend to his livestock. So, I sought the wise women and learned the minor spells that could make my life easier. And destroy the oaf I had saddled myself with. No one noticed when he died from eating tainted mussels. It proved a satisfactory explanation for his death in an era where such things were more common.

Once I had removed those shackles, I sold the stable and its contents and moved up in the world. At least a little. I joined a coven of more experienced witches and learned much. How to capture a man and keep him only as long as I desired; how to use glamours to enhance my appearance when it needed a boost; how to charm my way into—and out of situations. By the end of this phase, I had wealth and beauty beyond the dreams of the poor orphan I had been.

I spent some time on Avalon with Morgan and the Wise Women. The day they brought Arthur ashore, I tried with the others to save him. I know where his burial cairn lies.

With every age, I have grown stronger. I avoided the nets of the witch hunters in Salem, having already survived the Inquisition. Money and beauty are equal currency for the minds of men.

Now, I am here. Through the centuries, I have carved away all the ugliness and poverty of my life. You see before you the epitome of my learning. My pièce de résistance. You wouldn’t know to look at me the dismal origin story, the centuries of time, the regrets that led me here. Now, I am simply the best me I can be. I wish the same for you—without all the effort.

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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 Ela Lourenco @ElaLourenco @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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I am Queen 
by Ela Lourenco 

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I gaze into the distance

The desert dust rising into the hot air

As the sky weeps into the desert.

The tribal women wail and tear at their hair

while you are lowered into your final resting place.

And so begins the ten years of mourning.

Grieving their King, the saviour, the protector…

I sit alone on the throne we shared.

I alone shed no tears as the hot and humid earth

Takes your body.

You were no King, you were barely a man.

Everything about you was a lie.

You thought I did not see

The evil that lurked within.

That I did not hear the whimpering

Of the abused in the dark of the night.

I am Queen.

I saw everything.

I felt everything.

My people will never know

But I am the true saviour

I did what needed done

An none shall ever know…

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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 Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Reflection    
by Kathleen McCluskey 

In the dimly lit room of an old mansion, stood a forgotten pool. Its waters still and murky, a mixture of serenity and unease. A woman, her figure graceful yet hauntingly delicate, knelt beside it. Her vision was fixated on the rippling surface that barely held her reflection. Her name was Elara, once a celebrated Russian ballerina, now only experience remained. She was renowned for her ghostlike grace and ethereal performances. Her ego was legendary. But now she was a mere shadow of herself haunting the corridors of her former glory. She was trapped in a place where time had no meaning and memories were her only companions.

Every night, Elara was drawn to the mansion, to the murky water that seemed to beckon to her. It was said that the waters held dark secrets. It was a place beyond the living, where the echoes of the past mingled with the murmurs of the damned.

Tonight was no different. Elara approached the pool, the soft echo of her pointe shoes against the marble floor created a melancholy song that sliced through the night. She gazed into the water, her heart pounding in her chest. As her reflection stared back at her, a feeling of unease washed over her. For it was not her eyes that met hers but that of a grotesque figure lurking beneath the surface. Its elongated limbs stretched out of the water and  reached for her to slide her down into its darkness.

Fear gripped her heart as she tried to recoil away from the pool, but the sinister force had her in its grasp. She could feel herself being drawn in closer. She was becoming sluggish and uncoordinated, like a puppet on strings being controlled by an unseen puppeteer. She flailed and twisted in unnatural forms. Elara summoned all her strength as a piercing scream shattered through the night. Then as swiftly as it had begun the darkness receded, leaving behind nothing but the marble floor where Elara once stood. Her reflection remained etched upon the surface of the water. Her face frozen in a nightmarish grimace.

As dawn broke, the pool lay tranquil once more, concealing the horror of the night before. For those that dared to gaze into its depths, the echoes of Elara’s screams will forever haunt through the marble, as a chilling reminder of the evil that lurked within its depths.

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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 A.F. Stewart @scribe77 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Fairy Tale
by A.F. Stewart

Death is infinite and varied, and the first time I experienced it, my husband murdered me.

Marked forever, a nameless victim, one of several wives killed and entombed. Granted only a short, sad life with no meaning.

My second death snatched me from my cradle, devoured by a monster, never having a chance at an existence. My third demise came at the hands of an arrogant prince, who killed me for practicing witchcraft.

And on it went, life after life, memories melding into the span of my tumultuous universe. Reborn infinitely, resurrected in Germany, France, in Italy, England, revived as wife, witch, princess, peasant, playing my part in someone else’s story. Until I reach my violent end. Then I scream, I perish, and begin again.

I walk a fixed fate through eternity serving an iniquitous purpose. Forgotten by most, abused by some and ultimately discarded. I live, yet have no identity and no name. 

What am I? Who am I?

I am the wanderer through the narrative, the ghost that haunts the tale…

Now, I lay dying under the Arabian moon, far from where I began.

Wife, child, witch, or princess, I am always fated to die…but where is my happily-ever-after?

Where is my story?

I wish I knew.

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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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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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Her Story 
by Marge Simon 

Shutting off the alarm, she dresses for work. The usual rush to the crowded Blue Line, where she settles for standing. She reads her phone en route, clutching the silver pole and turning her face away from the woman blowing her nose.

She never notices when her days become so many lies. Friends playing silly games, parties she doesn’t remember; the men who come and go, leaving damp sheets and ash, and only one that matters.

But he steals her heart, wrecks her car, her life. So much for being serious. She takes care of the situation with a finely honed steak knife, gets things back on keel.

Beyond her apartment, the thrum of wheels on rails, she finds their message comforting. So tonight, before the City can claim her for another day, she leaves for California. She takes a reminder for old time’s sake: A small vial of the bastard’s blood on a golden chain. He was certainly beyond needing it anymore.

 

Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Marge Simon:

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Victims
by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

The title of this collection sets you up for the surprise of lyrical stories of victimizations with unexpected endings for the villains. Be ready to have your heart opened and cheer for perceived victims, human (made and unmade) and other life forms, victorious in the hands of these two award-winning poets. —Linda D. Addison, award-winning author, HWA Lifetime Achievement Award recipient and SFPA Grand Master.

Across histories and cultures and from Auschwitz to Babylon this book leaves you questioning who are the victims, and regardless of your conclusion you’re likely to get throat-punched. This is horror where everyone has a knife, and is ready to deliver this message: “Remember, you are always guilty. —Herb Kauderer, author of Fragments from the Book of the After-Dead.

Simon and Turzillo have only gone and startled me again. What a collection! Brutal. Beautiful. This quiver of poems strikes with the unflinching truth of persecution and oppression as seen through the lens of feminism. Prepare to come away bruised and yet strangely bolstered by Victims, a symphony of sadness orchestrated by two masters of dark poetry. —Lee Murray, Bram Stoker and Shirley Jackson Award-winner.

This is one of the braver dark poetry collections I’ve seen in a while. Horror poets generally employ victims in their work, but the focus is generally on the Evil. Turning the camera the other way is unusual, unsettling, emotionally risky, and surprisingly effective. From their stark opening take on Pygmalion, to the ending poem about the wasted life of Stateira of Persia, this powerful collection teases apart an impressive number of the threads of victimhood. Some are the usual cases, but quite a few are surprises, or reversals, or cases with unexpected layers. There is nothing repetitive about this collection. —Timons Esaias, winner of the Asimov’s Readers’ Award and the Winter Anthology Contest

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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If I Could Go Back and Do It All Again… I Wouldn’t
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

I missed my hair.  I missed how soft and thick it was, how easy it was to put it into two little buns on my head.  And my lips.  I forgot how perfect and pink they were, my skin flawless, scarless.  The only difference were my eyes.  Did my irises always glow an amber brown?

I felt like a little girl going to school for the first time, but this was high school.  I remembered not having too many friends, but I was happy with those that I hung out with.  And I liked to be stylish, so I chose a simple gray top with ripped blue jeans, pink sneakers and gold and silver earrings.  Yes, I looked good, but my smile faded.  Was she still there?

“No, you didn’t kill yourself,” I said.

“What?”  My mother popped her head into the bedroom.

I forgot how good my mother looked.  She was so old now, letting herself go and becoming such a fragile creature.  Was she okay?

“You okay?”  My mother asked.  “You look nervous.”

She never missed a thing.  “I’m okay,” I said.  “I’m just rambling.”

“Well, don’t ramble too long.  The bus is coming, and your eggs are getting cold.”  She stepped back into the hallway but paused.  “Your father’s still here, if you want to say good morning to him, if you’re back to talking to him.”

A sob rose up into my throat.  Should I tell him?  What year was it?  High School, but when?  I was never specific about the date, but maybe, there was still time.  And yes, at this point in time, I was a real bitch to him, but I didn’t know what was coming.  None of us did.

“Dad!”

My father jumped as I gave him a big hug.  “Good morning,” he said, unsure of being surprised or annoyed.  “You’re still grounded, so don’t think this changes my mind.”  He was surprised by my kiss on his cheek.

“I don’t care.”  I tried to hold the tears back as I looked at him.

“You okay?”  My father stepped back and finished his coffee.

“Fine.”  I heard the bus screech outside.  They never did fix those damn brakes.  “Got to go.  Bye,” but I gave him one last look before running out the door.

Once on the school bus, I remembered how much I hated this ride.  The boys were busy bullying this girl nearby.  The joke would be on them later on because she would become a millionaire.  There was so much other noise, and it was absolute nonsense.  Didn’t anyone realize that the world was going to drastically change, and it wasn’t down the road.  It would be after I graduated.

I wanted to come back, I thought, and it was a one-way ride.

High School.  Sometimes, it was fun.  Sometimes, it was a prison sentence.  What would today be like?  I saw my friends and screeched with happiness, surprising them.  After I graduated, most of us went our separate ways.  I gave each of them a big hug especially Phil.  He would end his life right before graduation.  I didn’t know.  None of us did, but maybe, I could change that now.  And if I could change that, then maybe, I could even save my dad.

“What is with you today?”  Bethany asked.

I shrugged.  “Nothing.”

Bethany threw her arm around my shoulders.  “Uh huh, you’re off.  Different.  Did you get laid?”

“Jesus, Bethany,” Phil said.  “Why don’t you say that louder?”

“No, I didn’t get laid.”  I glanced at Jill.  “Why are you quiet?”

“I got into a fight with my boyfriend,” Jill said.

Oh, that’s right.  You’re pregnant or will be, and you won’t graduate with us.

“Earth to Joy?  Hello Joy,” Bethany said.  “You gone to the moon or something?”

I was about to answer her when a boy walked our way.  He was overweight, sweaty with black and red hair.  Fuck, I forgot about him, I thought.  We thought he was a creep then?  Wait until he becomes president and starts World War III.

“Creep,” Bethany chirped.

“Creep,” Phil repeated.

“Creep,” Jill snapped a little too vehemently.

“Knock it off,” I said as he pushed past us, giving me the stink eye.  “He’s dangerous.  Don’t any of you realize that?”

“Why?  What did he do?”  Phil asked.

“Yeah, did he attack you or something?”  Bethany asked.

“Joy, you okay?”  Jill asked.

No, Jill, I’m not okay, I thought.  I was told coming back here would come with a price.  Now, I know what that price is.  I have to kill him.  If I don’t, then we all die.

“I’m fine, Jill,” I said.  “Let’s go to class.”

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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 HereStories Written Along COVID Walls, 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 Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Whimsy is a Woman 
by Elaine Pascale 

“A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t worry about diet,” her date from the app chided after he had asked Mei about the panda tattoo on her left arm. She had told him that pandas were her favorite animal. That was not entirely a lie. She told him they fascinated her because their diet was completely inefficient and yet they grew fat. She couldn’t tell him that she had her tattoo because children loved it. It made them less fearful when she approached their cages.

He had said the tattoo looked new and she had told him she had it for “decades.” This was not entirely a lie. The truth was she had to have the same tattoo reapplied as her flesh continuously healed over it.

He had suggested dinner. Mei would have proposed a walk in the park at night. She made it a habit to never eat in front of others. They would be sickened by how inefficient her diet was. But she was on a mission, so she would have to find a way through a charade of a meal.

The fairy lights made Mei’s eyes look brown instead of red. They also made her witch’s teat difficult to detect. She and her date would not discuss the stigma diabolicum on her wrist which was visible and never healed over; the panda was safe conversation.

“A pretty little thing like you must go on a lot of dates. What made you use the app?”

Mei told him that she was new in town and working remotely, so had no way of meeting people. This was not entirely a lie. She was working for her coven. They had sent her to a new city, to find fresh samples they could use. Their fetus harvest had failed due to a lack of “crop rotation.” They required genetic variety.

He noticed she was ignoring the menu. “Do you want an appetizer? A drink?”

She was hungry; she hadn’t consumed an infant or child in weeks. If only she had the digestive enzymes to stuff down hors d’oeuvres and crepes and tapas and dumplings. If only she could swallow grilled filet mignon with garlic confit cloves and red wine reduction sauce. If only she could bring herself to put her mouth on some sun-dried tomato tilapia stuffed with rock lobster and asparagus.

But only flesh would do. And only youthful, tender offerings that were raised like veal.

She waved the waiter away when he approached. “A little more time,” she requested, sheepishly.

“Should I order for you? It’s something I like to do,” her date suggested.

She shook her head. She was about to make the fairy lights explode as an excuse to end the date when he reached across the table and put his warm hand on her cold one. “Women are made of whimsy,” he said, “Just try anything.”

Her eyes widened. Dare she deviate from her inefficient diet?

“You won’t know you like it until you try it.” He stroked her wrist, his fingers arousing her brand, making it tingle. His hands were soft and without callouses. She remembered that his profile on the app had mentioned private school, a position in the family business, and luxury vacations. He was sheltered; he was pampered.

“A pretty little thing like you, can have whatever you’d like,” he murmured in a low tone. He leaned toward her, his scent reaching her. He smelled sweet and salty. He smelled as if he had been marinated in indulgences. He smelled…young.

Her stomach rumbled.

He was right, she decided. She reached beneath the table and squeezed his thigh. She suggested they skip dinner.

In her home, as she feasted on him, she was pleased to discover that he made for a much more efficient diet.

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Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pixaby.com

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More from Elaine Pascale:

The Blood Lights

They victimize all…

Jezzie Mitchell is in anguish; with her brother’s murder still on her mind, she’s noticed strange behavior among the girls in the residential treatment center where she works. Is there a connection between the contagion on Cape Cod and the deadly Bahamas vacation that changed her life?

Jezzie reaches out to former lover Lou Collins, a scholar who has chased proof of the lights for decades. Will he be able to solve the mystery of the lights in time?

Intensely competitive, reporter Bridgette Collins knows the lights are a way to secure fame in her career. And while it’ll put the final nail into the coffin of her ex-husband’s career, she vows to know the secrets of the lights. Even if it means unleashing a world-wide epidemic…

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sheri White @sheriw1965 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Cold Cold Change
by Sheri White 

I stepped out of my tent and saw that the snow was closer. I could feel the icy winds licking at the parts of me that weren’t bundled up.

It was time to move on.

Winter is taking over. I don’t know if it’s global, but in my little corner of the world, so many people have frozen to death or starved.

My wife was one of them.

I wanted to lay down and join her, but when this started, we promised each other we’d keep trying to find a place with our kids. There must be a warm, sunny place somewhere.

The three of us sleep together in a sleeping bag in our tent to keep warm at night. Once we hear the wind start to whip up and shake the tent, we pack up and head out.

***

We trudged on for several days, the icy wind at our backs pushing us forward. Trying to keep ahead of the eternal winter. And then we stopped short.

I dropped to my knees and wept.

Snow. Mounds of it covering bushes, cars, everything. Including people. I turned my kids around so they wouldn’t see hands sticking out of the snow as if they were reaching for help.

I set up the tent and we laid together inside. I usually zip the tent closed to keep out any encroaching snow and to keep us as warm as possible.

This time I left it open.

.

Fiction © Copyright Sheri White
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Sheri White:

sw`Don’t Turn Out the Lights: A Tribute to Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Featuring stories from R.L. Stine and Madeleine Roux, this middle grade horror anthology, curated by New York Times bestselling author and master of macabre Jonathan Maberry, is a chilling tribute to Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark.

Flesh-hungry ogres? Brains full of spiders? Haunted houses you can’t escape? This collection of 35 terrifying stories from the Horror Writers Association has it all, including ghastly illustrations from Iris Compiet that will absolutely chill readers to the bone.

So turn off your lamps, click on your flashlights, and prepare—if you dare—to be utterly spooked!

The complete list of writers: Linda D. Addison, Courtney Alameda, Jonathan Auxier, Gary A. Braunbeck, Z Brewer, Aric Cushing, John Dixon, Tananarive Due, Jamie Ford, Kami Garcia, Christopher Golden, Tonya Hurley, Catherine Jordan, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Alethea Kontis, N.R. Lambert, Laurent Linn, Amy Lukavics, Barry Lyga, D.J. MacHale, Josh Malerman, James A. Moore, Michael Northrop, Micol Ostow, Joanna Parypinksi, Brendan Reichs, Madeleine Roux, R.L. Stine, Margaret Stohl, Gaby Triana, Luis Alberto Urrea, Rosario Urrea, Kim Ventrella, Sheri White, T.J. Wooldridge, Brenna Yovanoff

Available on Amazon!

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