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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From Below 
by Ela Lourenco 

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I have no eyes

Yet I see all

Living yet dead

All are in my thrall

I am the creature

That lurks under your bed

Mine is the voice

Which creeps inside your head

I taunt with dreams

Lulling you so sweetly

Into false security

Before ripping it

And haunting you completely

I sniff out your secrets,

Your darkest desires

And twist them for my pleasure

As you slowly expire.

.

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 House Around the Corner 
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

When I was a child, no more than ten,

we avoided passing the house down the way,

No words were needed among the young.

We knew by instinct to stay away.

.

It held an ancient arcane beauty

we recognized but didn’t get.

The walls were encased in twisting roots,

as if the trees weren’t done with it yet.

.

No one went there to visit,

not even on magic Halloween.

The children raced quickly past it,

as if afraid they might be seen.

.

Only the oldest of the old

dared to climb the creaking stair.

They’d reach with palsied hand to open the door,

and step inside to vanish there…

.

Then I grew up and moved away,

all thoughts of the dwelling buried deep.

Eighty years have come and gone,

and now it visits me in sleep.

.

It calls to me with voiceless whispers,

willing me back to come inside.

I write this now because I’m listening…

by the time you read this—I’ll have died.

.

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

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519RiHK+1wL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_

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 K.R. Morrison @KRMorrison2 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Deer Alice 
by K.R. Morrison 
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He missed her so very much, even though he’d killed her. Deliberately.

He didn’t regret it; there was nothing in his upbringing that had caused him to grow a conscience, so things like this didn’t even register. His parents had made sure that anything that even smacked of religion or commandments never crossed his path. They wanted him to make up his own mind.

They sure had done their job well.

Alice had become weak and frightened, like a deer in the headlights. Always whining about something or other. What else was there to do but get rid of her? He was sure no one would miss her—no one had ever defended her when she’d escaped his attentions in the past.

The comparison to a deer went beyond just her trembling and fear of him. She had always complained about his hunting, giving him the whole Bambi spiel. He could have overlooked all of that, but her disloyalty to him was the last straw.

She and the cat had made a very nice stew. Surprisingly enough, she’d even tasted like venison. Or was it the addition of the cat? He would never know.

Her bones had ground up nicely, but making them into bread—well, those giants could have them. It had tasted terrible.

 

He stood in the shadows of the forest as afternoon turned into dusk. There had been no luck sighting deer for the last couple of hours, and it was getting cold. He decided he’d have one last smoke and then call it a day.

As he exhaled the smoke, a figure emerged from the underbrush.

He looked, then stared.

He rubbed his eyes.

“Alice?”

It wasn’t possible. But there she was, in the clothes she had worn the day he had strangled her with the drapery cord.

She approached him silently, a smile playing about her lips. Not a word did she speak, but her eyes spoke volumes. He hadn’t seen her look seductively at him since their first night together, all those years ago. And she was…gorgeous! The years had fallen from her like the leaves from the trees around him.

“Travissss…”

She got closer, and suddenly her eyes started to glow. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing—she was sprouting horns! They were nothing like he had ever seen—and he wanted them. Forget Alice or her ghost or whatever this was—he wanted those horns!

He reached for them, and suddenly heard a snort. It was not coming from Alice, but from behind her!

Alice suddenly disappeared, and in her place was the biggest elk he had ever seen. And it was angry!

He had only enough time to pull in a gasp before it was all over.

 

The police report told of a man found in the woods with elk antlers embedded in his chest. Oddly enough, there had not been elk in that forest for over a hundred years. After scratching their heads for a few days, they filed it as a cold case.

After all, the victim had been Travis. No one would miss him.

 
Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More from K.R. Morrison:

Enoch’s Return: Pride’s Downfall Book 4

All hell broke loose, as demon fought saint, and undead fought mortal. Fangs and swords, fire and light, mingled in a cacophony of noise that would have awakened the dead — if they hadn’t already been in the pitch of battle.

Toby was looking forward to celebrating his 21st birthday with family and friends. However, the day is shattered by the arrival of his sister, Erica, fresh out of the juvenile detention center, where she has lived in isolation most of her life. There is something very wrong with her still; witness her biting the ear of her taxi driver and licking the blood from her lips, and the way she antagonizes everyone around her. The other thing that is very off-putting about the day is a gift he receives – a musty tent and a few iron spikes that have been lying in the ground for years. Toby faints at the sight of the “treasure,” while Erica reacts violently and runs off to who-knows-where.
While he is unconscious, Toby learns who he truly is, and of his mission.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Amy Zoellers @breakfastpoet @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Ghost Walk
by Amy Zoellers 

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I quit my tomb, waltzing

a shadow on air.

Why have I come there

where nobody’s dreaming?

.

Cackling, sobbing,

collapse to the ground.

That trancing sound…

I  can’t hear enough of it.

 

In my riverside roaming

flames take me, I ignite

to echo my death-night

and calm is my ghost-walk.

 

For what? I don’t know.

The call is delirious,

we spirits: mysterious

and given to show.

.

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 Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Dream Demon 
by Elaine Pascale 

The dream demon lurks in the hallway while she sleeps. A memory plays out behind her closed eyelids; the reminiscence tattooed on her senses.

She opens her eyes, but the smell lingers. It lays over her like a second blanket.

“I am still asleep,” she tells the demon that stands in her doorway. She has read about sleep paralysis demons and understands that if she weren’t asleep, the demon would no longer be there.

She closes her eyes to block out the sight of her phantom visitor but is confronted with the memory that matches the plaguing smell. She is watching her mother watch the police officers as they canvass the woods behind their house. The landscaping bags that had gone missing from the garage had been ignored, along with the dirty shovel that had been aggressively stowed in a dark corner where it did not belong. The dream demon is also in a dark corner where it does not belong, and she is faced with a memory she cannot ignore.

The demon is now in her room, sneering at her as she lies captive in her bed. “I am still asleep.” She tries to force herself to speak. Words would wake her. Words would bring her back to this world and away from the woods where the bags leaned and gaped.

She reminds herself that if she were not asleep, the demon would no longer be there.

The demon raises its hands and plays with its lips. It also wants to speak. It wants to tell her something. Just as her brother had wanted to tell her something when he had asked her how she would hide a body. He had wanted her to canvass his mind as the officers had canvassed the woods. He had wanted her to make it all stop. Another moment that should not have been ignored.

The demon is somehow closer to her bed even though she never saw it move. It smells like burnt skin and hair. It smells like the body parts that had been discarded in the landscaping bags.

The demon stands by her feet. It could easily reach out and tickle her soles, her most sensitive skin. She knew it wouldn’t; it wasn’t there for silliness and giggles.

“I am still asleep. You can’t really touch me. You can’t do anything. I am still asleep,” she tells it and its grin broadens widely.

It climbs onto her bed and crouches on her chest. The demon beckons her with its gnarled hand, as if wanting to establish closeness to share a secret.

“I am still asleep,” she protests.

The demon shakes its head. “You smell different when you are awake.”

.

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 Terrie Leigh Relf @TLRelf @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Weaving 
by Terrie Leigh Relf

The town folk said my grandparents were touched in the head for building so deep into the forest. Gramma just said they were superstitious and the family had set down roots just where they needed to be. Their four-storied home was built in a clearing by Gramps and his six brothers, and they only cut down the trees they needed, nothing more. Gramma knew that our family was a guest in these woods and often communed with the creatures that dwelled within it. After she passed, her secret was revealed to me.

            branches wending ’round

            learning the power

            to weave

 

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More from author Terrie Leigh Relf:

The Sisterhood of the Blood Moon

For thousands of Earth years, the Transgalactic Consortium has had a quiet interest in this planet and its inhabitants, the Haurans. While the Sisterhood of the Blood Moon works together with the Consortium and Haurans to maintain balance in the universe, the Blood Moon is fast approaching. The power of this moon reveals untold secrets . . . including a sacred covenant with the Mora Spiders. There is an ancient pact that needs to be honored—but at what cost and for whose purpose? The world may come to an end. But will there be a chance for a new beginning?

Available for purchase from Hiraeth Publishing!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Hex
by Amanda Worthington

I was an insect, I think

Confined to the dark places, segmented

A fragile thing encased in a carapace of faith

.

Now, six twisting antlers have sprouted

Rising out of my skull like daggers

.

I have counted them in this eternal night

Run my fingers across every inch of my body

In an act of defiance, I suppose

My touch is the one thing I’ve chose in this madness

.

And while I haven’t gotten full control of the heft, it is coming

I told her she could have me in three days’ time

Begged these hours of knowing what I was and was not

Before I yielded to her request to make those men bleed

.

I feel her creeping back now

Eager to slither into the beast she’s made me

Eager to slick these antlers with blood and viscera

I am her Frankenstein

Her molded clay

Her dark masterpiece

.

And I wish she no longer wanted me

And if there was a way…

.

But it is too late.

She is here now, whispering:

.

Have you got a sense of things? It’s time to go.

.

She fills me with her awful insight

And I let myself sink into the turbulent sea of her

Succumbing to the undertow of her urging

.

The sun should be rising

But it goes on hiding

.

We both do.

.

But I like to think we’re both still here somewhere.

.

I am her weapon

Another thing to be wielded

Worn down, blunted, discarded

All in the name of claiming a power

That will never be mine

.

I begin to explore her from the inside

With gore caking my antlers –

The soft aftermath of her ecstasy

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I feel impossible to get clean, forever soiled

.

I am the prison and its lone tenant

And while she sleeps I scream

In silence so loud it swallows the forest’s sweet murmurings

.

And then containing my agony finally

I fight my instinct for flight

Imagine I am some elusive beetle still

Skittering, chittering

.

Looking for the right place to bite

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Wicked Deeds: Witches, Warlocks, Demons and Other Evil Doer’s

Sometimes wicked people do wicked things simply because they can… The twelve stories in Wicked Deeds tell tales of witches and warlocks with ill intent, devilish demons bent on destruction, and other doers of evil who make the world a terrifying place. What is a mother to do when her daughter is gifted but lives under the thumb of her fanatical preacher husband who will brook no talk of the supernatural? What of a demon so desperate to free himself of a trap that he will force another to repeat his atrocities and condemn a young boy to his demonic fate? Or maybe the story of a crotchety old witch with a score to settle against the town she lives in is more to your liking – what evil will the seemingly harmless town-crazy call upon when faced with an ultimatum? If you’re looking for wicked people with supernatural abilities doing wicked things, this is the collection for you!

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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Never Tell Death I Love You
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

His hair was long and white, his body a stick.  His hands trembled along the chair, and his feet kicked.  But his eyes were sharp, almost as if they could pierce through skin and circuitry.  He switched between mute and verbal, and when he spoke, he chose his words very, very carefully.

“Are you hungry?”  I asked as I listened to the buzzing of his chair moving from the living room to the kitchen.  “Could I get you something?”

“Water,” he said.  “Just water.”

His fridge was filled with liquids.  Cold soup.  Jell-O.  Pudding.  Cream cheese, but that would be hard on his digestive system now.  Tons of water, and he grabbed a bottle out of the fridge.

“You could do an IV,” I said.  “You would get fluids better that way.”

“I have no veins left, boy.”

I felt amused.  He called me, boy.

The chair popped.  It reminded me of a firecracker.  I watched him lean over, trying to reach for the lever in the back, but his hands shook too much.

“Here.”  I grabbed the lever, moving it up and then down, and suddenly, a jolt raced through me.  I shook it off as the chair revved up.  “You need a new one.  This one is ancient.”  I caught the look on his face.  “Out of date.”  Another look.  “Old.  The chair’s old,” and I was surprised by his curt laugh.

“I like you,” he said.  “You’re not like the other Caretaker.”

“Yes.  I heard about the other Caretaker.  He shut down.  No explanation as to why.”

“Maybe, his batteries were running low.”  He whizzed past me, moving fast for a man in his condition.

“I don’t need batteries…”  I searched for his name, but my mind ran blank.

“Jim,” he said from the living room.  “Name’s Jim.”

“Jim,” I said.

As I stepped into the living room, an image rose up into my view.  A woman dressed in white.  A veil over her face.  She was beckoning to me.  The space around her was dark, something on the floor.  It reminded me of a web.

“Something wrong?”  Jim asked, turning his chair around to face me.

“No,” I said.  “I thought I just saw something.”

“A woman?”

I was surprised, and he noted my surprise.

“The other Caretaker saw her too.  Must’ve been the shock from the chair, and I will tell you what I told the other one.  Don’t say those three words.”

“What words?”  I asked.

“I won’t say them.”

“Why not?”

Jim looked afraid, but his fear quickly passed.  “She and I have played this game for a very long time now.  Do you know how many Caretakers I have had before you?”

I searched my mind again.  “Six,” I said.  “They all shut down.  No reason as to why.”

“Yes.  She took them.”  He stared down at his hands, trying to steady them.  “If she can’t have me, she will have them.  Until I tire of this game.  Maybe, I am finally tiring of it.”

“But I am not human,” I said.

“Do you think that Death cares?”  Jim asked.  “Now, I would like to take my afternoon nap.  Can you assist me, Caretaker?”

“I will assist you, Jim.”

My records showed that Jim slept like the dead, but he was far from it.  Was he responsible for the demise of the other Caretakers?  As I shook that thought off, I saw her again, but I couldn’t see her face.  I just felt a pull, a need to follow her, and she beckoned to me.

“Say those words.”  Her voice was a melody.  “Speak them, and follow me.”

I remembered Jim’s words, but the pull was strong.  Why was it so wrong to say those words?  Surely, Death could not kill me.

“Will you join me, Caretaker?  I will come for Jim soon enough, but now it’s your turn.”

I couldn’t get her voice out of my head.  As I spun around the living room, I saw her.  She was standing in a doorway, a soft mist falling outside.  A trail of webs, maybe vines curling around her.  She wasn’t going to let me go, and I didn’t want her to.

“I,” but I caught myself.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Love.” I pushed my mouth shut.

“Yes,” she whispered again.

“You.  I love you.”  If I had a heart, it would have burst.

“Thank you.”

A heavy thud hit the living room floor.

“One day, Jim.”  She faded away.  “One day.”  Her words drifted down the hall and through the open door to Jim’s bedroom.

Jim rested in his bed, a smile across his face.

“I.  Love.”  He smiled again and closed his eyes.

.

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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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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Mistakes Happen 
by Marge Simon 

On October 31st, you shut off your alarm, dress for work and make the rush to the crowded Blue Line. You settle for standing, clutching the silver pole, pretending to read the ads. Yes, it’s Halloween, so what? To you, it’s a lot like life, just a celebration of stupid. A bunch of idiot friends you couldn’t count on, parties you can’t or won’t remember. Women who came and went, leaving trails of smoky perfume. Only one of them loved you, but you wrecked her car, her credit, her life. So much for l’amour.

Tonight, you’re late getting home. You’re a little drunk and very tired, bellowing curses when you bump into a wall. Ouch! You cut your hand on the edge of a glass table. You feel around for the light switch but it’s not where it should be. Actually, nothing in your apartment seems where it should be. Then, ensconced in the blackness, you see two shining red orbs. Wings beat slowly back and forth, moving the stagnant air. A foul smell emanates from deep in that blackness, seeping into your very pores.

“Richard Whitmore Smith, your time has come,” it says, wrapping leathery wings around you. You can smell its fetid breath on your neck. You writhe in protest, “But I’m not Richard Whitmore Smith, I’m Richard Whitemore Smith! You’ve made a mistake!”

It laughs. “So? Mistakes happen,” it says as it unhinges its jaws.” Happy Halloween.”

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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 Carietta Dorsch @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Blood and Ivy
by Carietta Dorsch  

In the heart of a dense and foreboding forest stood a house long forgotten by the town.
Walls once painted a vibrant shade of red, the same shade as the original owner’s favorite lipstick, were now faded and weathered, blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The house seemed to have merged with the woods, as if it had become one with the darkness beneath the canopy of branches. The oaks and the gnarled roots of the towering pines looked like extensions of the house.

Nicole and Anthony stumbled upon the house while exploring the surrounding woods on their hike. Drawn by curiosity, they pushed through the overgrown foliage, their eyes widening as the dilapidated structure came into view. The once-grand mansion now stood as a haunted shell of its former glory, its windows shattered, and once-majestic entrance consumed by nature’s relentless grasp.

“ Wanna go in,” Anthony asked nudging Nicole, “ I do. Come on.”

“ It doesn’t look too safe,” Nicole’s voice whispered as she followed behind him.

“ Come on.”

The house loomed before them, windows shattered and doors hanging from their hinges. They hesitated for a moment, their eyes scanning the eerie surroundings. With a collective breath, they stepped inside, their footsteps echoing through the hall. The air was thick with dust and decay, and the scent of rotting wood filled their nostrils. The house seemed to creak and groan in response to their presence, as if it
were alive and aware of their intrusion.

“ Let’s just go.”

“ Come on Nicole. Just a few minutes,” he said in an attempt to impress his girlfriend with his manliness.

As they continued forward the sound of creaking floorboards echoed louder. Shadows seemed to dance upon the walls, their elongated forms seemingly alive. They explored room after room, their hearts pounding with a mixture of excitement and dread. Over time the wallpaper had peeled away, revealing grotesque faces made from stains hidden beneath.

The walls were adorned with grisly tapestries woven from twisted vines, and the furniture was crafted from gnarled branches.

The ivy and vines suddenly came alive, slithering along the walls. The tendrils reaching out like skeletal fingers, eager to ensnare its prey.

The house was hungry.

“ What the fuck is this?”

“ Anthony help me!”

They tried to pull away, but the house’s grasp was too strong.

The ivy tightened its grip, constricting their movements, binding them to the house’s sinister embrace.

Desperation consumed them as they fought against the house’s hold. They tore at the ivy, their hands bloodied and bruised, but it seemed to sipher their energy the more they struggled. The house reveled in their torment, feeding off their fear and despair.

More branches reached out and wrapped around their bodies, squeezing tighter and tighter until their bones snapped like twigs. Their screams echoed through the halls as they were drug deeper into the mouth of the house.

Days turned into weeks, and the house stood as a silent watchman in the heart of the woods. Its branches, still stained with the blood of all its victims, reached out hungrily, waiting for the next unsuspecting soul.

Twisted branches swayed in the wind, and if one looked closely just beyond the window pane, two blooming flower blossoms dripping with red dew could be seen, as if in memory of its latest victims. In time their memory will fade and the house will remain.

.

Fiction © Copyright Carietta Dorsch
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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