The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 20, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Image_02The Art of Buying Voodoo Dolls 
by Marge Simon 

She crosses the street to the dark side of town, where terrible things are bartered or sold. It’s a dangerous place as twilight descends, but her purpose spurs her on. At a Caribbean shop she spies just what she needs. An old Haitian lady helps her select, with a handbag to carry them home.

The big one’s for former lover William. He keeps begging her for another chance, and won’t let her be. He thinks she needs more of his company, but she’s fed up with his looks, not to mention his smell, reeking of cheap cigars and beer. As for the others, one is for the bothersome nosey neighbor, a third for her lying little sister, and a fourth for the bully who threw rocks at her dog. She smiles, knowing her pins will make them all squirm.

But she lingers to purchase a fifth one, made of the finest quality burlap. The Haitian saleslady throws in a new set of pins when she confides that it’s for her new beau. You know, just in case.

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 Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 20, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Last First Date 
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

Cassandra glanced up from the map she was puzzling over and peered out into the dark landscape. No streetlights graced this back-of-beyond wilderness. The storm clouds rumbling above them threw occasional bolts of lightning, as if trying to squash their bug of a car, but luckily it wasn’t raining, Yet.

Something caught her eye in the distance, and she strained to see details. Pointing excitedly, she turned to her companion. “There’s a light—”

“‘—Over at the Frankenstein place?’” Michael teased.

“If you tell me your middle name is Bradley, I’m walking home.”

Mike laughed. “No. Nothing so apropos as that. It’s Edward.” He winked, barely visible in the dim light.

“Well, my name isn’t Janet, Columbia, or Magenta, so let’s go see if they have a phone.”

Mike carefully negotiated the rutted track leading to the front door of a…castle. In the middle of nowhere.

“Some first date,” Cassandra huffed, trying to fold the map into some semblance of its former self. “Next time, I choose.”

“Next time?” He grinned.

Sniffing, she shrugged. “If there is a next time.” Then, she relented and grinned back. “I have to admit, it’s been interesting.”

They’d had a nice dinner at the best restaurant in town, though Mike hadn’t eaten much, and gone to see the newest Marvel movie. Cassie had really enjoyed herself so far. But then, Mike had suggested they go for a drive, and her spider senses had tingled a little. She should have called it a night, but it had been a while between dates, and the thought of a bit of moonlight necking had been too appealing to pass up.

They had been driving for about an hour now, and the countryside had gotten more and more remote…until Mike finally admitted he was totally lost, and she’d tried to find the way back on the map.

It wasn’t as if they could have gone too far off-track. The road had been straight and easy to follow…they should have been able to turn around and follow it back…but that didn’t work. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why.

Mike stopped the car in front of the dilapidated pile of stone. A light shone in a tower window, but the rest of the castle was dark.

Cassie reached for the door handle, but Mike caught her by the shoulder, leaned forward, and kissed her—long and deep. She melted against him. Now this was what she was talking about! To herself. In her head…

“For luck,” he whispered, when he finally pulled away.

She fumbled the door open and got out. Mike came around the car to take her hand.

Together, they cautiously approached the big wooden door of the castle and rapped with the door knocker.

It creaked open, just like in a Hammer film, to reveal a slim young woman with hair like plaited midnight. She gestured them inside. “Come in, come in. It’s about to get nasty out there.”

As if in response to her words, a deafening peal of thunder rolled over them, followed by the anticipated rain cascading like a waterfall from the heavens.

Cassie squealed and darted into the sheltering interior. Mike followed more slowly, with a glance at their hostess. Something passed between them in that glance, but Cassie was too distracted to notice.

“There, there, dear,” soothed the young woman. “You are safe now.”

“Thank you for the hospitality,” Cassie murmured, wondering if she should drop a curtsy.

“Come and meet my father.” The young woman turned and led the way deeper into the castle.

She stopped outside a closed door, and gave Cassie a crooked grin. “We don’t get many visitors. You must excuse Papá’s manners.”

She threw open the door with a flourish, and Cassie felt herself shoved forward into the room. She turned to Mike in bewilderment, but he was no longer the handsome, but slightly awkward, geek she had met at school.

He had grown in stature—at least five inches—and gained a regal demeanor she couldn’t equate with the boy she’d spent the evening getting to know.

“Good work son!” growled a low voice. “She looks tasty.”

Cassie turned to the new threat, and saw a heavy-set man dressed like a Bela Lugosi wannabee.

“Mike, let’s just go…”

“Sorry, Cassie,” he purred, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “It was my turn to get dinner.”

 
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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RELEASE: The Sirens Call Zine Spring 2023 Edition – Issue 61 | FREE Online #Horror and #DarkFic #eZine #magazine @Sirens_Call

Posted on May 1, 2023 by Nina D'Arcangela

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Spring 2023

The 61st issue of The Sirens Call weighs in at 236 pages made up of 173 pieces of fiction in the form of short stories, flash fiction, and dark poetry from 100 different authors! Mike Lera’s Corridor of Horror presents ‘Short, But Scary‘, an introspective on anthology film making.

Our Featured Artist, Ksenya Lumitar Drozd, speaks about ‘The Power of the Wild Mother Wolf‘, as well as offers 14 of her watercolor illustrations. This quarter’s Featured project is ‘What A Scream‘ podcast, hosted by Ygraine Hackett-Cantabrana, not only does she detail ‘Turning Nightmares Into A Dream‘, she’s also picked out her top 5 episodes and tells us why each is so significant. Our Featured Author, Gwendolyn Kiste, discusses ‘Everyday Horror: The Existential Terror of Daily Living‘, and offers us a peek at her novel, ‘Reluctant Immortals‘.

Please, grab a copy of the Zine for free, and don’t be shy about sharing it around!

Visit Sirens Call Publications to download a free copy!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kendra Hale @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 30, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Digging Up Bones 
by Kendra Hale 

“You’ll be so comfortable here, you really couldn’t ask for a better view. The way the sun breaks through the branches and leaves as dusk and dawn hits is so tranquil.”

Heidi paused taking a break as she brought her hand up to wipe the sweat from her brow. This overlook was one of her favorite places and the breeze held just enough of a chill that the relief was a comfort. The water bubbled and spat as it churned just below them, the currents headed for greater waters. A soft and mirthful chuckle escaped her lips as she found the flow of the water relatable. When she spoke there was a calmness in her tone but that calm was a thin veil for the venom beneath its surface.

“All my life I have been forced without reason or choice to mold myself to everyone’s specific view of me. These souls who were supposed to love me unconditionally, through good or bad, didn’t even want to know me. Not who I am on the inside. Oh no. They were only too happy to push their view of me and who I should be, behave, speak, regard myself, carry my emotions…all of it to their individual preferences. Any time I tried to break out of the box, they would tape it tighter and tell me that it was for my own good. The fact that I was so easily forgotten once they had already had their fun at my expense, even manipulating the truth because “surely their son or brother could never something so vile”, well the body sheds but the mind remembers and sadly that wasn’t even the worst of their tresspasses.It didn’t matter which aspect of a relationship these unconditional bonds took it always led down the same path. And let me tell you something Leroy that takes a toll, quite a drastic one in fact.”

Heidi paused for a moment to look at the man who was supposed to be a Father to her. The one who had gotten her Mother pregnant in high school and hadn’t entered her life again until damn near her mid-twenties. The thought of having family, one that wanted to know her and enfold her had been all that she had desired in life. To belong and to have a safe environment where her words were heard and understood and not used as a weapon against her. But even that wish had been a fantasy.

“You know your Mother was so excited to finally meet me, your sisters swore that all my life they had wanted to be a part of my experiences. How sad it was that my Mother had blocked them out and us only living less than thirty minutes away. But you were carefree. I only wanted you to know I existed. You didn’t even recognize yourself in me, passed right by me at the funeral. I can’t begin to tell you what pain that caused.But if I am being honest, your sister caused the most pain. In her I found a kindred soul, one that nourished and matched me for my loves and saw me. But you all took advantage of that bond and made me manipulate her into going to the hospital when her mind was in a state of delirium…the things she said broke me. Her words cut me deeper than I have allowed most to penetrate, for she knew my worst fears. As we sat in the hospital she went from loving to screaming at me to get out and how dare I make decisions for her. Since when was I family? I was only there to take advantage of you all.”

Heidi took a breath to steady herself, she could hear the unsteadiness and the hitch her voice was giving. Even if her mind could shut down, these memories carried pain and that didn’t just wash away. She had been told her entire life that her emotions were too much or wrong and she had tried like hell to fight them, to make it all stop. To her credit that was why she was here tonight. Tonight Leroy was a crossed off name on her list.

“While lovers and friends have left their marks and done their damage over the years, you and those you will be joining left the marks that forever made me lose trust. To be confused on what love means and made it harder to trust not only myself but to trust in those who said they love me. Always waiting for the knife in the back or the walking away. I have pushed people away out of fear of more pain because the pain is too much to bear anymore. But Leroy, I admit this solution is not only cathartic but I dare say therapeutic.”

Heidi grabbed the shovel and as she worked she waited for the sound of the shovel hitting root to ring out, for that was the only sound that would be heard this night. That and her own breath. As she watched the colors paint the sky a vivid hue, Leroy joined in with the others as a source of nutrition for the oak. It was a memory she had cherished and had made a true labor of her love. Who knew the tree sent home with her as a child for Arbor Day would be something to help heal the adult her? She patted the dirt and wiped her face one last time. She was crossing her pain out one by one and left with a smile on her face and never a thought to look back.

“Enjoy the view, Dad.”

 

Fiction © Copyright Kendra Hale
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Kendra Hale:

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Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology

A collection of poetry.

‘Just Emotions‘ is exactly as it states, a group of writers who had feelings they wanted to express in poem form. Inside, there are a range of emotions to explore. Each writer has given a bit of themselves to you, each in their own way.

We hope that you enjoy these writings and that among the poems you may find some thing you can identify with or relate to. Thank you for giving us this chance to open the catacombs and share with you.

Available on Amazon!  

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

Posted on April 30, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Visitation
by Elizabeth H. Smith

Although John felt some apprehension about allowing Caroline’s corpse to lie about the house after her passing, he was glad he did so. He kept her cold enough to slow decay, and pleasant flowers had been arranged in every room just in case there was an odor. He cracked open the door every so often to view her. She likely would have scoffed at the job he did of applying her makeup, but he thought maybe she would have appreciated the effort nonetheless.

A knock came at the door as John paced the house in anticipation. He’d been waiting for this night with great fear, but also shining hope. When he opened the door to greet his visitor, the man simply walked in, stamped his cane on the floor and spoke, “Where is she?”

John pointed to the parlor. “She’s in there, resting.”

The small man muttered as he walked to the door and let himself in. John followed, his nerves rattled beyond measure. He looked over Caroline’s body as he placed his leather satchel on the floor. From it he removed an old leather-bound book. As he opened its cover, John felt a chill in the air and wrapped his arms around himself.

The man read from the book in a booming voice John didn’t expect from someone of his stature. It was a language he didn’t recognize—unlike anything he’d heard before. As the words flowed from the visitor’s mouth, Caroline’s skin began to glow beneath the veil placed over her naked flesh. The ghostly illumination brightened, her skin began to smooth and look fresh. A cold breeze traveled the room around them, followed by a sharp breath through Caroline’s lips.

Her eyes opened to gaze upon her husband, cold, hard, and without recognition.

The visitor quickly shooed John out of the room. “We must go! Hurry!”

Once they crossed the threshold, the visitor slammed the door shut. “It is done. You’ve got what you wanted. But be warned, it takes time for everything to come back, if it ever does at all… I strongly advise you not to go in there until you’re sure.” The man looked back at the door as inhuman screeching came from the parlor. “It would not be safe.”

John watched the man leave, then went and put his ear to the parlor door. He gripped the handle with a sweaty palm, unsure how long he’d be able to hold back from opening it and joining his wife, no matter how it would end.

.

Fiction © Copyright Elizabeth H. Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay
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More About Elizabeth H. Smith:
Elizabeth H. Smith is a storyteller who writes while trying to keep her cat, Luna off the keyboard. The musical group, Rasputina is her muse. She was born in the state of New York and would never feel at home anywhere else.

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Through Clouded Eyes: A Zombie’s Point of View

Through Clouded Eyes: A Zombie’s Point of View: a collection of twelve stories told from the Zombie’s perspective.

They’re shambling toward you, feet dragging on the broken roadway. Arms outstretched, faces slack, they move as if they’re tracking your scent on the wind. You want to run, but you know there’s nowhere to hide.

Aware of their insatiable hunger, fear paralyzes you. These things were once human, people someone loved. Is there anything left inside them – some sliver of humanity that may save you from this nightmare? Your mind doesn’t want to accept the inevitable, a single thought consumes you: what are they thinking?

With your chance of escape dwindling, you snap out of it and run like hell knowing there is little to no hope; fate is coming for you. Soon you will see what they see Through Clouded Eyes…

Featuring stories from Maynard Blackoak, Calvin Demmer, Paul M. Feeney, Stacy Fileccia, Trevor Firetog, DH Hanni, Shannon Lawrence, Josh MacLeod, Zachary O’Shea, Neal Privett, Mark Steinwachs, and Alex Woolf

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 29, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Best Be Ware 
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

The marrow bones

rattle

in the wind

tonight–

.

and on the

vast moor,

something howls….

.

They say the

Hunt

will ride

tonight —

.

searching for

souls

to harvest

like grapes.

.

Best be ware

and lock

the bairns

in the cupboards.

.

‘Tis an

evil wind

that carries

the cry of

the horn

.

and

all heads

turn

when the

Hunt

rides by.

 
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 Sheikha A. @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 29, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Hooriyyah 
by Sheikha A. 

to giving Venus an incarnation  
.
She wears a moth in her ring finger,
holds a burning tower in her palms.
.
Tonight she will tell him her secret –
leering darkness drowning the moon –
.
She eyes the pomegranate seeds
half crushed in her bowl of gold –
.
centuries of alchemy – carving spells –
she is tired of collecting her skins.
.
Her birth was quiet; still as death
her eyes like fragmented meteors
.
in abyss. She was beauty decaying
under curses until her gaze fell on him.
.
He was blue ice on the rims of stars –
sapphire fire – his wings hue of azurite;
.
his scent sweet dust of moonlit corpses.
She smears crushed juice on her lips,
.
red dainty petals – gold darkening
contours – he will see her bare bodied,
.
welts of sulphur on her skin – indigo
pearls – skin flakes shed like star-hail.
.
She is now complete; old as an echo,
true skin a canvas of streaming veins –
.
rituals she has embodied for eternity.
She has watched many moons juggle
.
rank; waves of silence rise and fall –
their whispers of mutiny harnessed –
.
She was once with eyes of honey-
speckled beryl; beauty of gold-laced
.
twilight; star trapped in belly of light.
Tonight will be an absence of magic.
.
The moth on her finger flutters –
ready for flight – she will set him free.
.
Flesh-less folds of her skin radiating.
Tower in her palms crumbling to ash.
.
.
.
Fiction © Copyright Sheikha A.
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More from author Sheikha A.:

Screen Shot 2019-12-17 at 10.57.17 AM.pngNyctophiliac Confessions:
Poems by Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee

“The night is cold enough to inspire poetry,” says Sheikha A. in her poem, “Reading My Bones.” This is the basis of Nyctophiliac Confessions – poems that are introspective and luminal, poems that require a certain amount of silence and space to be fully formed and appreciated. Reading these poems, I imagined that they were the kind of poems that assert themselves unbidden during a bout of insomnia. (A nyctophiliac being someone who loves the night or loves darkness).

Nyctophiliac Confessions is the 17th installment of Praxis’ chapbook series and contains twenty-six poems written by two poets, Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee, interspersed with abstract paintings by Robert Rhodes.

Available Here!

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

Posted on April 28, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Grave Song
by Amy Zoellers 

A tree grows on my grave to catch the sun.

I feed it well to show what you have done—

the gore, and then my grave beside the sea.

I rise by night to sing, my soul to free.

Heaven’s hope and vengeance fill my cup.

I rise at night and sing who carved me up

and soon appear beside your darkened bed

and croon my madness shrill into your head

and scream: “he carved me up and buried me

beneath the sky aflame, beside the sea!”

.

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 Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 28, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Reaper 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

The Grim Reaper sighed loudly as he walked through the beautiful dark realm. He had become complacent and unfulfilled as he ushered the many dead across the barren wasteland. it was the bleak underworld and his sheer existence that made him melancholy. His thoughts drifted to the glorious world of the living and how his visits to that domain were always brief. The sights, sounds and smells intrigued him. The reapers never lived on the uppermost level with the living; they only encountered them when their souls had left their biological selves behind. He longed to remove himself from the grip of the somber overlord that dwelled within. The master of his confine was a being that every reaper feared. The authoritarian was terrifying; his absolute power to eradicate reapers as he fancied made them all do exactly what was asked.

A voice from beyond called to him; its deep grumbly voice resonated in the reaper’s chest. He went to one knee and bowed his head. He waited to be punished for having thoughts of the humans and their world. He braced himself for the inevitable. He thought to himself, “This is it. This is how it all ends.” The reaper continued to kneel as the voice began again.

“I am the ruler of this inferno. I am the one that is the beginning and the end in this realm. How dare you fantasize about the living world. I am guessing this world is no longer good enough for you?” The dark master appeared before the reaper. He dared not look his king in the face. “Look at me you pathetic reaper. This burnt world seems to not be to your liking.” The reaper stood and looked at the absolute ruler of this domain, he stumbled backwards as the two beings’ eyes met. The ruler of the underworld’s eyes glowed like the fire of the sun. The reaper had to squint his own eyes. He lifted a scarred and burned arm to shield his eyes. The master touched the reaper and they vanished.

They reappeared near the glowing circular gate to the upper world. The reaper was momentarily elated at the chance to go to the surface. The dark lord spoke again, “You don’t think this domain is good enough for you? I will show you pain. I will show you suffering. I will show you to obey. You don’t like this desolation; the warmth and flames?” He pushed the reaper into the circle. He briefly screamed and vanished. He appeared onto a plane far worse than the searing fires of his past; he stepped out onto a frozen, barren wasteland. His destiny was sealed.

There are always places far worse than the ones you find yourself.

.

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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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Naching T. Kassa @NachingKassa @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 27, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Hunter
by Naching T. Kassa 

The village lies sleeping beneath a silver disc of moon, and the beast walks its streets.

The woman staggers out of the pub with two gold pieces and a song on her lips. She makes for the dark street and I follow, walking as silently as a ghost in a graveyard.

Her voice fills the empty thoroughfare, ringing off the cobbled stone. She sings of a boy called Billy, one who’s stolen her heart away.

A strange coincidence. Billy is my name.

It’s a cold night. The kind that chills a man to the bone and causes steam to rise from a severed artery. I can almost smell the blood now, its metallic, cloying scent makes my mouth water. Her footsteps lead me farther into the darkness.

She pauses, her song dying away. I halt too. I strain to hear the sound which has stopped her in her tracks. It could not be me. Never me.

She resumes her song and moves on to a nearby building where she leans and pours her heart out into the sky. Her voice cracks, as she curses the boy she once loved.

A breeze rises, carrying her scent—meat pie and beer—toward me. There’s another smell too. Tobacco. My heart quickens.

There’s a soft rustle up ahead. I hear it long before she does, and I can barely contain myself. Soon, I will bite into soft flesh and gorge myself on a fountain of blood. The anticipation weakens my knees.

As the woman passes the mouth of the alley, a place enshrouded in shadow, he leaps out. His knife gleams in the moonlight.

He would’ve taken her in his arms and silenced her screams with a single slash at the throat, had I not leaped into the way. I barrel into her, knocking her aside. She falls. I think she might scream, but she doesn’t. Instead, she scrambles up and flees.

My prey, the one I have waited for so long, stares at me with wide eyes. His hand quakes as he grips the knife and I swat it away when he tries to strike. It tumbles, end over end, and clatters against the wall. He stands helpless before me.

My voice, rendered a guttural growl by the fullness of the moon, has long lost its humanity. I cannot speak and so I howl. He shrieks.

The village continues to sleep beneath the silver disc of moon.

While I slay the beast.

.

Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
 

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More from Naching T. Kassa:

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Arterial Bloom

Lush. Brutal.

Beautiful. Visceral.

Crystal Lake Publishing proudly presents Arterial Bloom, an artful juxtaposition of the magnificence and macabre that exist within mankind. Each tale in this collection is resplendent with beauty, teeth, and heart.

Edited by the Bram Stoker Award-winning writer Mercedes M. Yardley, Arterial Bloom is a literary experience featuring sixteen stories from some of the most compelling dark authors writing today.

With a foreword by HWA Lifetime Achievement Award Recipient Linda D. Addison, you are invited to step inside and let the grim flowers wind themselves comfortably around your bones.

Available on Amazon!

 

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