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

Posted on August 22, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Best Friends Forever   
by Alex Grehy

My name is Jemima and I love to cycle in meadows

and lanes. Do you like my bike? It has a basket for 

goodies, I made it all pretty with ribbons and suchlike.

.

My best friend Jemma, she does the pedals,

‘cause I can’t quite reach. We’re always together, 

though you may not see me, except at the beach

.

Where I’m a shadow on sand, a giggle of wind,

Jemma tells the best tales, and I always listen,

the best are stories of cats, dragons and snails.

.

Jemma once said that computers have brains, not 

flesh, but ‘lectric and wires; so invisible friends, 

like little me, could use them to grant our desires.

.

I may be invisible, but that’s no excuse, the man 

in the big car could see Jemma alright, so why 

did he smash her, leave her dying, then flee?

.

I got mad at the man who killed my best friend,

so I got in his car’s brain and fried it real good,

it seized up and swerved right out of its lane.

.

“I’m not sorry!” I cried when Jemma’s ghost said 

“Ooh you’ve been naughty”. But girls won’t live safe if 

bad men aren’t punished; I knew she’d agree ‘ventually.

.

We rode our bike to the edge of the freeway, stopped 

all the cars driving too fast and wild; locked their doors,

trapped the drivers, let them hunger and thirst ‘til they died.

.

The corpses were a bit stinky but soon rotted away, the 

roads became quiet and safe, so we cycled the freeway

hunting for more meanies and baddies to strafe.

.

I talk to the brains inside of machines, telling the tales

that Ghost Jemma makes up; creepy stories of rascals

and villains, tortured and suffering until they all break.

.

The machines don’t know stories are lies, so they make

them come true – devices ‘lectrocute, explode, burst into

flames – no-one’s safe, they all have them, you know. 

.

Jemma and I are Best Friends Forever, we eat ice-cream 

all day long. No-one can see us as we cycle around,

stalking bad people and righting all wrongs.

.

Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

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Alex Grehy’s (she/her) work has been published in a range of zines worldwide including Luna Station Quarterly, Aphotic Realm and The Sirens Call as well as anthologies published by Water Dragon Publishing and Red Penguin. Her essays on being a “Lady of Horror” have featured in the Horror Writers Association Newsletter and The Horror Tree blog. Her words are also available via a global network of prose & poetry dispensers run by French publisher Short Edition.  She is recognised for her original view of the world, expressed in vivid prose and thought-provoking poetry.

Please click here to discover more!   

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alina Măciucă @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on August 21, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Corrosion 
by Alina Măciucă 

Drops of I, and of all that I have ever eaten, and drank and loved,

Drops of watermelon, and bourbon, drops of middle-aged men–vulnerable,

Yet so willing to fan out over the infinity of micro constellations that were once

Known as my skin,

Drops of women, with the bodies of athletes and the souls of maenads;

Drops of she, who was once known as postal clerk number seventy-one

And of all that she has ever cooked for her three children,

Drops of the love she carried for her husband, who blackened her left eye each

Time she didn’t get the stew right,

Drops of he, who was once known as the butcher with cauliflower warts

On his fingers, and of all the pretty little lamb heads he has ever chopped,

Drops of his loneliness and despair, and all the horrible jokes he barked at

His patrons

Eat at the street you walk on every day

On your way to becoming

Water.

And the drops,

And your steps,

The regrets,

The clock that

Spins,

They sound like jazz and prayers and gods munching on nothingness

While listening to John Coltrane.

.

Fiction © Copyright Alina Măciucă
Image courtesy of  Pixabay.comline_separator2

More about Alina Măciucă:

meblurAlina Maciuca lives in Bucharest, which she loves to capture in highly imperfect photos. Sometimes, she posts those on her social media. She thrives in big cities and aeclectic communities, and her needs are often met during her travels. So far, her work has been published in Vastarien, Space and Time and Penumbric Speculative Fiction Zine.

 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Melissa R. Mendelson @melissmendelson @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on August 21, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Eye for an Eye
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

My father rode my ass about finding a summer job.  He even threatened to have me work in fast food, and I’ve heard the horror stories working there.  My friend was forced to clean shit off a toilet seat while the manager ate a burger beside him.  I did not want that to be me, and I did not want to work.  I wanted to enjoy my summer, but my father would not hear any of that.  So, I looked and looked, and I found a job.

Five days a week, I would have to pick up tennis balls from the tennis court.  That was it, and I was off on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which wasn’t bad.  Also, when no one was looking, I would sneak into the locker room and cruise through any locker left unlocked.  Most of the time, I didn’t take anything.  I knew not to take cash because that would raise an alarm, but every now and then, there were other things, things that maybe would not be missed right away.  Maybe, the people would think that they left it at home.  The twenty-five dollar gift card definitely came in handy for a few lunches.  Thank you for not locking your locker, and I’m also enjoying those headphones I found.

One Monday was a really hot day, but the tennis court was busy.  Tennis balls flying back and forth, and I went back and forth too, picking them up from the ground.  I couldn’t complain about the pay, but what a waste of time.  Sometimes, the balls would fly over the fence, and I would have to walk around to get back there to pick them up.  Today was one of those days.

“Ow.”  I dropped the tennis ball on the ground and looked at my finger.  It was bleeding.  “Damn thing had spikes,” I said.

I kicked the tennis ball over with my foot, watching it roll in the dirt.  It had a slit on one side.  Damn thing was defective.

The slit opened, and an eye looked up at me.

“What the hell?”  I jumped back but suddenly felt dizzy, and I fell to the ground.  The ball, if it was a ball rolled back into my hand, piercing my skin, and I yelled, “Get off of me.”  I shook my hand, and the thing rolled back into the dirt.

“Look out!”

I spun around but didn’t see anyone.  The sound of balls flying back and forth filled the air along with people shouting things like “Point” and “Good Game.”  Nothing else.

I stood up from the ground and looked at the object near my feet.  I reached for it, which I shouldn’t have done because it did have spikes, but this time, it rolled away from me.  “Hey, get back here,” and I gave chase.  But the thing moved pretty fast.

I hurried past the fence around the tennis court and saw the creature, I guess I will call it that, pause by the side of the road, its eye fixed on me.  It refused to blink.  I was just within reach when it bounced up into the air as if it were hit by a tennis racket, and it landed smack in the road.

“Shit.”  I moved toward it but then stopped.  “What am I doing?  It’s not a tennis ball.  I don’t know what it is, and I should get back.”

I turned around and headed for the tennis court.  The day was almost over, and I didn’t want to have to stay late because of that thing.  No one would believe me anyway, if I told them about it, and my hand hurt, the skin pierced in multiple spots, oozing blood.  I felt dizzy again, stumbling back into the court area.

“Look out!”

I turned just as a tennis ball flew toward my face, making contact with my right eye.  I fell back, slamming down onto the ground, pain searing into my head.  I realized that people were now surrounding me, paling at my injury, but it couldn’t be that bad.  The ball just hit me in the eye.  It was probably bruised, but why couldn’t I see out of that eye?

“Where’s his eye?”  Someone whispered.  “Did the ball knock it out?”

I sat up from the ground, and my head spun around.  I could hear the ambulance screaming this way.  My hand rose, reaching for my face, but someone grabbed my hand.

“Don’t touch it,” they said.

“Why can’t I see out of my right eye?”  I asked, but no one would answer me.  “Why can’t I see,” I screamed.

“Because,” another person said but paused.  “Because your right eye is not there.”

I quickly felt my face, and my fingers made their way up to where my eye should have been.  There was a large, gaping hole instead, and I could hear that thing laughing as it rolled away.

.

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, and the poetry collection, This Will Remain With Us.  She also has two self-published short story collections, Better Off Here and Stories Written Along COVID Walls.  All the books can be found on Amazon/Amazon Kindle.

If you’d like to learn more about Melissa, you can visit her accounts here: https://linktr.ee/melissarmendelson

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

Posted on August 20, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Collapse 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

Jeremy’s goggles were caked with sand and beginning to fog. He tapped his companion and pointed off into the distance. Through the swirling dust devils they could see the top of a building. The constant wheezing sound from them trying to breathe through their respirators was beginning to push Jeremy to the edge of his sanity. As they got closer, Jeremy could see that the landscape was just like everything else that once fed a nation; dried, desiccated and dead. He had hoped he would see the green, lush grasses that he had seen in pictures. Since the collapse it was harder and harder to maintain any hope to find substantial food; even the rats had become scarce. The people that were left on the planet were starving.

They stepped into the crumbling building; the wind and heat were blocked by the walls. Jeremy removed his goggles and respirator. As he rubbed his filthy hand across his brow, he looked over at Angela. She had been struggling since their sanctuary had been overrun by the starving remnants of humanity and they fled. The torture was evident from the pained look on her face. Jeremy went over to her and put his arm around her shoulder. He pulled her into his chest and she sobbed.

They found a cozy spot behind a few desks and amongst the dusty, archaic papers. He began to look at the sheets and realized some off them were pictures. Jeremy was mesmerized by a picture of a smiling group of people on the beach. He immediately noticed the turquoise water and the crisp, clear, blue sky; something he had never seen in his lifetime. He placed the picture in his jacket. He began to look further. He found another picture with an article still attached. He saw that the picture was of a giant cloud; a mushroom cloud. He had heard about these types of clouds. His father had told him that this is how the world fell apart. He always thought that his dad was making up stories, yet here is the picture along with the explanation. The article read:

“Today the United States was purposefully attacked by air forces from the Empire of Trinity Nations. The multinational syndicate inflicted damage to America’s heartland as well as every major city along the Eastern coast. The use of nuclear weapons on American soil has never been done in the history of the world. The United States has unleashed its nuclear arsenal as well. It’s only a matter of time before the fallout reaches here to the mountains of Montana. Take care, my fellow patriots, as I fear the end is near for all of humanity.”

Jeremy placed the article on his lap. Now, if only he could read.

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 Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on August 20, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Stolen Innocence 
by Rie Sheridan Rose

Beside a lonely country road,

a pristine bicycle stands alone.

The paint is pure as driven snow,

a bike a girl’d be proud to own…

.

A wire basket on the bars

filled with flowers newly picked

seems to say she’ll be right back,

before the clock has further ticked.

.

And yet the child who owned the bike

has been forgotten by her peers.

The flowers wither, wilt and die…

to be replaced for all these years.

.

Her parents never got a grave

where they could go to sit and weep.

She was there, and then was gone—

gone where, a secret shadows keep.

.

I sometimes drive by in my car,

and change the flowers resting there…

Remembering the night she died,

the victim of a childhood dare.

.

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 Carietta Dorsch @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on July 30, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Faustian Melody in Pain Minor
by Carietta Dorsch  

Jeff sat in front of the piano and ran his hands across its broken keys. The feeling the cold ivory gave his fingers was a cross between a tingle and a sharp sadness.

“Brenda, it’s just sad,” Jeff said, “that all Mom had of any value was this hunk of trash.”

“It’s not trash, Jeff. This was Mom’s pride and joy. She never played and obviously this old thing never was in any condition that she could, but it’s been in the family for years.”

“Wasn’t this granddads?”

“No, he gave it to her, but Mom said that her great-great-great grandfather bought this and rocked any house down that he played at. He was the Floyd Cramer of his day. He was only 32 and mysteriously died.”

“Wow, I never knew that. That’s actually pretty cool.”

They made their way into the living room to carry on the conversation. They talked and caught up on the time they haven’t seen each other.

“Well,” Brenda said looking at the darkened skies out the window, “I’m gonna hit the road before it gets too late. You staying here?”

“Yeah, I think I will. I’ll see ya in the morning.”

“Sure thing.”

After Brenda had been gone for nearly an hour Jeff heard a noise. He could have sworn that was someone knocking. He knew he was alone, or better yet, that he better be.

He let out a tentative, “Hello.” He only could imagine what he’d do if anyone answered.

He headed toward the noise, passing the living room with the set of  matching flowery furniture that he now noticed lurked at an odd angle to the rest of the room. Each piece pointed toward the direction of the piano.

As he looked toward the piano there was a sudden jolt that shot up his spine and then fright.

There stood a man, opening and closing his blood-filled mouth, cracking his broken teeth together, and trying to speak but his mouth was so full of blood that bubbles would pop out and flow down his chin instead. Terror snaked up his legs and into his gut and he ran to the study, slamming the door behind him.

“What the fuck, what the fuck,” he said in a panic.

Finally, just as he dreaded, a knock came from the door, but this time a voice followed, “Please, let me in. I must tell you this.”

“Go away, please just go away.”

“Listen, you must listen. You are in grave danger. You must listen before it’s too late.”

“Go away, please,” he whimpered.

The knob began to turn and the door came ajar, and ever so slowly it swung open, revealing the man standing there directly under its frame. He looked up and noticed the cross that hung over the door and backed up one step.

“Listen,” the man began to say, “ you must help me lift this.”

“Who are you? Lift what?”

“I made a mistake dealing with the devil for the skill to play that piano. In return I was only given a few short years and I had to give the first born son of the first daughter to the devil in order to finally find peace.”

“No, you can’t. I won’t let you.”

“You must. And you will”

The man lunged forward and grabbed Jeff and yanked him toward to the door.

Toward the piano.

.

Jeff’s flesh that was on view was either scarred or festering.  The piano was a gorey mixture now of flesh and wood. Jeff’s thumbs had been severed, used as end pieces. His ear could be seen on the left side of the piano’s body. Jeff’s intestines were across the top of the piano’s body and his bare feet were now the feet of the instrument.

As the man played it made soft sounds that seemed at first to be gibberish. But when he played more the sound could be recognizable to anyone. It was the sound of pleas of mercy, of pain, of wanting nothing more than to die. With each key the man pressed down it pulled a nerve ending of Jeff’s and he let out his guttural, inarticulate sound of endless torment.

The devil’s deal wasn’t to gift the man the ability to play, but to allow him to play for eternity once the price was given.

..

Fiction © Copyright Carietta Dorsch
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Nadia Corin @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on July 29, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Rusted Memories
by Nadia Corin

I add another lock to my chain of memories. Sometimes I worry about the weight, that one day it might come crashing down. But then I suppose that might not be the worst thing in the world. It would certainly be nothing less than an accomplishment, the way I see it.

I don’t add to my special chain haphazardly; no, each new memory is added with care and careful selection. Every single one is special. They all have a place in my heart.

John, Allen, George, each carries the name of its origin. Even though all I have to look at are these rusty padlocks, I still remember every curve of each of their faces. How their hair smelled. How soft their skin was.

It’s too bad metal rusts and decays, but at least it lasts longer than flesh.

.

Fiction © Copyright Nadia Corin
Image courtesy of Pixabay
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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Nina D’Arcangela @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on July 29, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Way Out
by Nina D’Arcangela

There it was, just ahead. I saw him drop it, but the rumble had started, so I knew better than to go for it. The wake of its passing flung my body against the wall, the air shattered around me. The ground shook so hard that the cloud of rising dust choked the breath from my lungs. Tears streamed from my eyes, but my mind stayed sharp. I knew where it was, I just had to get there.

As the quaking subsided, and the station settled, I looked again – yes! It was still there, and in better shape than me. I began to crawl toward it, the noise in the tunnel cranked up a notch, but eye on the prize, right?

I was almost there when the commotion echoing off the brick and tile grew deafening. But I didn’t care, that french fry was probably the only food I’d find this day. A rat’s gotta eat, and no better place than where humans gather. Such filthy creatures.

So I dove for it, coming up just shy of the rail; the fry – still out of reach in the gravel. But no matter, I’d be there with a quick jump. Little did I realize that I wasn’t the only one doing a swan dive. As my clawed hand stretched for that out-of-reach morsel, the light grew dim. I glanced up just before the body slammed onto the tracks. My final thought, at least I don’t have to worry about eating tomorrow.

.

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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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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lynn Ruzzo @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on July 28, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Lettie
by Lynn Ruzzo

I’d always heard tell of loved ones that passed coming back to visit those left behind, but I never gave it much credence. As they say, believe what you know, consider what you don’t.

Walking around the pond on a warm afternoon, I was thinking of her, as I’m apt to do, when a hinky feeling started to creep up my spine. Normally, I’d put it down to my own special brand of paranoia, but as I walked past every verbena sprig, the same white butterfly would almost instantly land on it and begin probing the blooming horns. After the eighth or ninth time, my brain was sending out ‘danger Will Robinson’ vibes, and telling me I might want to high-tail it out of there. To be honest, I was starting to get creeped out; it felt like the butterfly was stalking me. Ridiculous, I told myself. Butterflies don’t stalk people, but as I passed another large rock, a new sprig appeared on the far side, and sure enough, the butterfly quickly followed.

I stopped for a moment, considered the possibilities, and concluded that it must be a scent I was letting off, not just the flowers. Stepping forward, I reached toward the miniscule menace and it began to flutter frantically. I yanked my hand back and promptly fell flat on my rear, but it was clear the invitation was set. The butterfly swooped and dove through the air getting closer and closer, until it was circling my head looking for a place to land. Pushing backwards with my heels, I tried to get away, to escape its onslaught, but it was having none of it.

Finally, frustration got the better of me, and I swatted at it. The current from my hand moving through the air buffeted the flying beast away, but it quickly zeroed back in, this time it was headed right for me; no zipping, no zigging – just a straight line aimed at my face. As it reached the air in front of me, I clapped my hands.

Two things happened. The first was that I now had sparkly dust on my palms and the tiny little thing lay mangled and torn in my fingers. The second, the thing I prayed for each and every day, was that I heard her voice. The wind whispered Lettie ever so faintly. No one called me Lettie, no one but her.

Looking down at my hands with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat, I whispered, “Grandma?”

.

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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 Karen Soutar @kaz_ess @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on July 28, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


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Strings 
by Karen Soutar 

He’d expected the door would stick. The floorboards would creak. Something. But no, he glided into their old rehearsal room just as he’d always done. Well, almost.

He trailed his fingers through the dust on the window ledge. Sparkles levitated in the light. The sunshine outside mocked him. He flicked a cobweb to the floor, then felt guilty in case he’d upset a spider.

How David would have laughed at this. ‘Over-dramatising again, darling? Of course you are. Stop wafting about and get over here.’

The piano, like him now, had seen better days. Bits missing, skeletons prominent. Out of tune. And…

He and David had never actually said the word. Just continued to play and sing together, until it was no longer possible. Withered hands could no longer press the keys. Failing eyes couldn’t read the music. And then their partnership was ended, in the most final way there was.

He often wondered what would have happened. The most famous duo of all time? Or the more modest success with which he’d been blessed? Always working, always singing. Some acting and directing. Writing, of course, too. Over fifty years in the industry.

He stood in his old spot. Took the new score from his jacket, laid the sheets on what was left of the music stand.

The opening lines were hesitant, not least because his vocal chords weren’t really up to the number anymore. He got going, though. He would never sing here again. Or anywhere. So he had to do it justice. For David.

He was into the first chorus when he realised.

He had accompaniment.

Someone was playing the piano.

Which sounded as terrible as it looked.

Well, clearly, this was the sign that the illness had finally got to his brain. He might as well keep going, though, as time was obviously shorter than he’d thought.

He risked it, glanced down. And swallowed a scream.

The skeleton playing the piano gave him a look (was that even possible?), said ‘Tch!’ and waved a hand irritably in a way that he immediately recognised as meaning:

‘Well, you bolloxed up that bit, didn’t you? Keep going.’

Keep singing.

 Was the sound from the piano improving?

Okay, he could do this. Verse two. He hit his stride again. Heard a satisfied ‘Hmm.’ Which changed to another ‘Tsk!’ when he risked another peep and mangled another note.

Flesh on the skeleton. More keys on the piano. Hair, fingernails. Broken strings now whole.

Chin up. Shoulders back. Last chorus. Time to do this. Time to belt.

He held the last note as long as possible, then crumpled like a mangled marionette. Strong arms wrapped round him and held him up. He gazed into blue eyes he hadn’t seen for thirty years.

‘Did you write that for me?’ asked David.

‘What makes you think I wrote it?’

‘Come on. Do you think I wouldn’t remember your style?’

‘I didn’t think you’d remember anything. Being dead.’

‘Ha. Good point.’ David chuckled. ‘Although that makes two of us, now.’

‘Does it?’ He realised that his body – well, the one he’d been using up until now – was slumped over the piano. ‘Oh.’ Strangely, he wasn’t at all concerned. ‘So what happens now?’

‘Whatever you like.’ David threw out a theatrical arm. ‘Stay here. See the world. Play the Hollywood Bowl. Do you have anyone you want to haunt?’

‘Can we do that?’

‘What, haunt someone?’

‘No, idiot, play the Hollywood Bowl.’

‘Absolutely. Although…’

‘What?’

‘I think you need more rehearsal time first.’

‘Why, you cheeky…’

Their bickering faded.

***

‘Hey guys, look at this!’

The band stumbled into the dimly lit rehearsal space, eyes adjusting after the sunshine outside.

‘Wow, it’s like new!’

‘Someone must have loved it. Weird, when the rest of the room’s so crappy.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll get that cleaned up in no time. Come on, let’s see how it sounds!’

The piano gleamed as new, young fingers hit the keys.

Far away, in a huge open-air theatre, a janitor shrieked. On a stage with no power and no-one else around, an electric keyboard had begun to play.

.

Fiction © Copyright Karen Soutar
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments