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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

My Heart is a Train Saw
by Angela Yuriko Smith

My heart is a train saw.

I am not your damsel

in distress, trembling

in white dress, hanging

on your words, dying

to be heard. I will not

die on this track, severed

affection and air brakes

crushing my breast to red

jelly à la carte for crows.

My heart is a train saw.

I have a one track kind of love.

My kisses are razors, cutting 

embraces to open your ribs

splintering bone, liberating

your heart. Signal failures and

red flags won’t work on

this girl. Your Mama

warned you better, said

not all girls are weak

I can handle my shears.

I can leave you in stitches.

My heart is a train saw.

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

Angela Yuriko Smith is an American poet, author and co-publisher of Space and Time magazine, a publication that has been printing speculative fiction, art and poetry since 1966. Together we build a poem as a community each month. Visit “Exquisite Corpse” at SpaceandTime.net to submit.

Catch up with Angela here!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Aurora Looks Lovely From Here
by Jaime Johnesee 

In my opinion polar night had one really good thing going for it. All those beautiful colors playing in the sky, chasing each other, made for a wonderful distraction.

As my fellow cruise ship guests oohed and ahhed over the beauty of Nature, I was dropping weighted garbage bags overboard into the freezing water.

His body could feed the crabs. It’s what he deserved.

How could he have liked her? Especially since her Instabook posts were all garbage attention-seeking shit? He slept with her on our anniversary, no less.

He should have known better.

When I surprised him on board the cruise he acted like he didn’t even know me. ME!

I had started following him on IB eight years ago. I’d helped him grow his fan base. ME! The only one who shared all of his videos, who commented on and liked everything he posted! He damn well knew me! He even chose me to win a signed copy of his first album.

Finding him there, in bed with her on our anniversary, destroyed all eight years of my love in that moment!

I had wanted to surprise him. So, I opened his cabin door with the key card I’d lied to obtain from the steward, and saw him there in the very act.

She was on top of him, her eyes closed, head thrown back in ecstasy. His face was buried in her breasts. They didn’t even hear the door open. He didn’t hear me when I crossed the carpet. He didn’t even hear me when I slit her throat with a nearby oyster knife. Hell, I don’t think he even heard me when I plunged the accompanying steak knife into his heart,and it took three tries.

It was over all too soon. I was grateful for the box of trash bags that a cleaning lady had left in the bathroom. I dragged him into the shower, and cut him into pieces with the steak knife and the help of a deer butchering course my dad had forced me to take. I did as I was taught, slicing through his joints instead of the bones. Once that was done, I did the same with her.

Then I cleaned the shower, shoved the bedding and towels into the various garbage bags, along with their bits and belongings. I cut the tags off their suitcases and dumped them down the garbage shoot, after looking through them for money and valuables, of course. She was a cheap whore. Her bag was all costume jewelry and G-strings. Worthless. Now, she could be of some use by feeding the crabs alongside her boyfriend.

I wondered if next year’s voyage would be selling the very crabs feasting on their flesh right now? That thought alone makes me smile and consider booking again. My job cleaning everything up is done. I feel lighter having watched each bag sink under the cold, dark water.

Now, it’s time to look at those Northern Lights. They seem more vivid since I’ve gotten away with murder. The aurora looks lovely from here. You know, I think he would have adored all the colors. Oh well. I wonder what that rock guitarist from Cleveland is up to? He seems like a nice guy.

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Fiction © Copyright Jaime Johnesee
Image courtesy of Pixabay.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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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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On, and On 
by Asena Lourenco 

….Watching. Waiting. The ever-growing limbs of bark creep further and further towards me. Lurking. Longing. The floor grieves life, the colourless canopy only inhabited by birds of the night. Patient. Preying. Omniscient eyes, aware of all, living and dead. Past. Present. Future pending, uncertain for all but these creatures, yet they continue on…

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

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More about Asena Lourenco:

AsenaAsena Lourenco is 16 years old. She loves reading, playing Scottish traditional fiddle music on her violin, dancing, and martial arts as well as writing her own stories.

She would like to be a teacher and writer when she completes her University studies. She also loves cats and babies!

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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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Timeless Love 
by Ela Lourenco 

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My breath freezes as I exhale

In this ice house that I call home

There are logs aplenty and a fireplace

But I will not light it

The time is not yet come.

I hum gently as I rock in my chair

My tune is a lullaby in the frozen night air.

My beloved sits beside me

Without sound nor move

His touch is ice cold

But that will change soon.

The time we have left is short

Soon he will thaw and decay

But his body will ever be mine

He can no longer get away…

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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 Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Last Train to Nowhere 
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

Trains. Why’d it have to be trains…?

An old song from my misspent youth whines in my head as I wait to board the train. “Take the last train to Clarksville, and I’ll meet you at the station…” Well, this is the last train to anywhere, they say. Wonder if anyone is left to meet someone at the station. I rather doubt it.

It’s funny. As a kid, I would have killed to ride a steam train. It seemed so cool. Now, all the fancy bullet trains and other high-tech transports are moldering away in their depots, and only steam is available. Even they are limited to what the steam can do. No lights except gas-powered lanterns that may or may not reveal the deer standing on the tracks in time.

One EMP from our galactic overlords—who we didn’t even know were there to be displeased with us—and bang…back to the days we all had completely forgotten. And then they sent the phage. It didn’t seem harmful at first. Who cared about bacteria?

But once those were decimated, we began to care alright. Diseases that bacteria had kept at bay ran rampant, and new ones cropped up with none of the little buggers to help. Including the dreadful zombie virus we all were afraid would happen. It isn’t like the movies. No one eats your brains. They just wither away and die. You become a walking vegetable. Fun.

Only a few unaffected left. And we’re supposed to board these trains—though I’ve heard this is the last one the powers that be intend to run—and go somewhere. To do what? Who knows? It doesn’t really matter. The old world is dead, and we are too, most likely.

Oh, well. At least I finally get that train ride I always wanted…

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Lights at the End of the World
by A.F. Stewart

This is Arctic Station 590 

Lieutenant Alice Ripley reporting…

If anyone is still hearing this, Captain Wilbur is gone. He walked out into the melting tundra yesterday. I watched him disappear, swallowed by the light, the same as the rest. That makes the fifth member of the team. I’m the only one left.

I’ve sent the data we collected, for all the good it will do. None of the readings make sense. We still don’t understand the phenomena. We failed. I can only hope that one of the other research stations found something. I know what the news said, but—

Sometimes I wonder, how many people remain in the world?

I don’t know whether there’ll be another report.

I’m the last one here, the last one left.

It’s so quiet now. Except…

I can hear the song, feel the pull of the light.

I don’t know how much longer I can resist.

Arctic Station 590 can you hear us?

Lieutenant Ripley, are you there?

We’ve found the solution.

Lieutenant Ripley, are you receiving this?  

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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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Winter’s Vampire 
by Marge Simon 

There’s a vampire for every season, a little-known fact.  The cruelest of them all belongs to Winter. While the bites of others convey a warm death to their victims, Winter’s vampire only metes out doom.  Her deadly kiss freezes the mind with fear and all who gaze upon their corpse are damned to waking nightmares. Therefore, extreme caution is advised when walking in the woods. Vampires take on the form of winter birds. They perch on oak trees above a hiker’s path and wait for their victim to pass beneath.

It is well for humankind that Winter’s Vampire enjoys winter sports. Thus, if you stay free of ski lodges, hockey games and ice-skating rinks, the chances of being drained by Winter’s Vampire are slim. But bear in mind there are other seasons, other sports, and other vampires.

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Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Marge Simon:

Victims_MargeSimon

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 Lisa McClinsey @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Breakage 
by Lisa McClinsey 

There’s a work-around for everything in the old house. The marks on the kitchen floor show where it’s safer to stand, where the wood isn’t as rotten. I make tea with bottled water in the tiny electric skillet. I have electricity in some of the rooms, for now, but fuses are hard to find these days. I don’t use anything that takes more than 400 watts, just to be on the safe side. I heat with space heaters set on low, light with a stovetop full of candles, wash dishes by hand, make hot water with a little hot pot kettle.

This is the house I grew up in, but I didn’t live here when I was married. It’s the only place I can afford to live, now. Most people couldn’t do this, but I know how to live when I’m poor. Right now, I’m flat broke.

Winters kill old houses when they’re not heated. At the end of the marriage, the ex didn’t want to pay for the oil, so this house has been dying for six years. The water heater was the first organ to fail, followed by the furnace. The washing machine soaked the carpet and warped the floor boards when it kicked the bucket. I washed the laundry by hand in the bath tub for a while after that, but never could get enough water wrung out. The dryer failed soon after, because no matter how hard I tried, the clothes were too heavy with water.

Everything that could possibly break has broken at least once. The screen door handle snapped off in my hand the day in February when I took Daddy to the medical center, the year before I got married. The garage door broke soon after and never would go down all the way anymore. One thing after another, the vacuum cleaner, the stair at the bottom of the cellar, the clock in the living room. Daddy died in April, so they said at the nursing home, but I think what really happened was that whatever was breaking everything in our house finally broke him, too.

The lift chair in the TV room froze in mid-lift just after the funeral. The photo of our family fell off the wall and the glass and the frame broke the day after that. The leaf for the kitchen table got a big crack in it the day all our relatives showed up for the wake. The stove stopped working the week after that, my bedroom door sagged on its hinges and stopped closing right, the shower head fell off and shattered a few weeks after that.

The funeral was eight years ago, and nearly everyone who showed up for it has passed on. Even my cousin Terry, who was only 36, and Aunt Berta, who was only 53. Sixteen relatives, most under the age of 70.

My ex said that in old houses, things break. It seems like something sinister is afoot, but when you think about it, when was the last time anything here was new? How often did things here get maintained? Things that were new at roughly the same time broke at the same time, too.

The year after he said that, our marriage broke. Things seemed like they were okay, until suddenly, they weren’t. He emptied our bank account and flew off to some resort in Mexico with an old girlfriend from high school.

I ended up here. That was two years ago.

I started getting arthritis two weeks after I moved in. Chronic bronchitis, tinnitis, dizzy spells. Six months after that, my left ankle broke. Histoplasmosis, diabetes, high blood pressure, Lyme’s. Now my doctor says I have some kind of incurable disease that’s slowly paralyzing me, turning my skin hard, turning me to stone.

I’ve been working on my will, writing my own obituary. Estate planning. I have to think about what to do with this place, who I’m going to pass it on to.

I have a couple of cousins I always thought a great deal of. We played here together as kids. I always wanted to do something nice for them.

I’m willing the place to the ex.

Fiction © Copyright Lisa McClinsey
Image courtesy of
Pixabay.com

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Lumps of Coal, for Luck 
by Alex Grehy

On New Year’s Day, in certain lands, the first visitor to a household carries luck across the threshold in the form of a lump of coal.

The dead so often lack insight into their own mortality, 

lingering as if they still had business in the world. They

look back along the tracks of their lives, so many 

yesterdays laden with regrets and unfulfilled desires.

New Year’s Eve at the station. Time to move on! says 

The Conductor. Excited souls gather, thinking that a nice

trip might indeed be restorative, a winter tonic of sentimentality 

blended with the beauty of a vintage steam engine, brasses 

gleaming, smoke pouring rich and savoury like gravy over a

Christmas roast that they do not quite recall enjoying. 

Don’t forget your coal, The Conductor says, two lumps

each, as per tradition. They take their seats, too thrilled

by the marvellous luxury of first class carriages to wonder

at their destination and who might receive their gifts of coal.  

Glorious mountain views flash between tunnels that seem 

strangely familiar, as if their vision had been narrowed 

before, but The Conductor soothes their vague anxieties 

with champagne and song.

Snow gathers and frost fingers drift across the windows

oblivious to the hot smoke drifting from the engine, puffing

hard against the strain, wheels slipping on icy rails. The

passengers mutter, the gathering snowdrifts brood like piles 

of old sins, frigid and intense. They cry to The Conductor

who tells them, soothingly, that all the train needs is a little

more fuel, maybe if they gave the boilerman their gifts of 

coal they would soon be out of the cold.

One by one, he leads them forward, tells them to hold their 

lumps of coal high, as if they were dark lenses against the glare. 

They shiver, finding themselves inexplicably naked, the coal a 

deep shadow against their frost-whitened faces. The Conductor 

smiles, reassuringly, though his passengers are wide-mouthed

with terror. In the engine room they cannot help but lean towards 

the beguiling incandescence of the fire that drives the train. 

Lumps of coal for luck, you’ll be needing it, the boilerman says,

inviting them to throw their tributes to the flames as he swings

his shovel hard, though the souls he sweeps to perdition weigh 

less than the coal they offered to the pyres of hell.

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Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

Spread: Tales of Deadly Flora

Green Thumbs Beware!

Plants are beautiful, peaceful, abundant, and life-sustaining…

But what if something sinister took root in the soil, awakening to unleash slashing thorns, squeezing vines, or haunting greenery that lured you in? Perhaps blooms on distant planets could claim your heart, hitch a ride to Earth on a meteor, or simply poison you with their essence. Imagine a world where scientists produced our own demise in a lab, set spores free to infect, even bred ferns to be our friends only to witness the privilege perverted. When faced with botanical terror, will humanity fight to survive, or will they curl and wither like leaves in the fall?

Read ten speculative tales ripe with dangerous flora to find out.

Available on Amazon!  

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Pretty Lights 
by Lee Mitchell  

“Look! Do you see them?” Roger pointed as he stared. The ribbons of light seemed to take on a life of their own, illuminating the night sky with vibrant hues of green and crimson.

Janet said nothing.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” The man grinned. “So worth everything it took to get here.”

She turned away.

“Don’t be like that. Isn’t this everything you’d ever hope it would be? It’s romantic, right?”

No response.

“I mean, you always wanted to see the Northern Lights before you died. That’s what your profile said. Well, here we are. Together. At the edge of the world, where anything could happen.”

Janet made another exhausting effort to scream, but the many layers of duct tape over her mouth muffled the woman’s screeching cry.

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

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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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