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

Posted on March 3, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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That Last Innocent Summer
by Sheri White 

We were only twelve that summer when it happened. My friends and I had gone to the woods like we did every day. We usually had it all to ourselves, but that day we saw a woman standing in our favorite spot. Her clothes were old-fashioned and all black. She stood completely still with her back to us.

“Who is that?” Sammy whispered.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “Maybe someone’s grandma?”

“Whoever she is, I wish she’d leave. She’s blocking the swing,” Boner said in a whiny voice. He always had a whiny voice.

There was a rope swing we used to jump into the water. It had been there as long as we could remember; we don’t know who put it up, but it was a blast. The woman grabbed it with a gnarled hand, as if she knew we wanted to use it.

“Damn it. I wanted to go swimming.” Boner whining again.

“Me too. What is she doing?” Sammy asked.

“Maybe she’s got grandkids in the water and she’s keeping an eye on them?” Boner suggested.

“Maybe,” I said. “But why is she dressed like that? It’s so hot out. She even has a hat on.”

“It’s a bonnet, numbnuts.” Sammy rolled his eyes at me. I elbowed him back. “Let’s just go ask her if we can use the swing.”

We approached the woman. One of us stepped on a twig and she turned her head to look at us.

We screamed when we saw her face. Her eyes were jet black, set in a gray and wrinkled face. She let go of the rope and pointed at us with a bony finger, the long chipped nail yellowed and claw-like.

She grinned at us then, showing broken and jagged brown-stained teeth. She screamed and came at us fast.

“Run!” I screamed.

We took off screaming and crying.

“What is that? What is that?” Sammy kept repeating.

A few minutes later we couldn’t hear any cackling. “I think she stopped chasing us,” Sammy said.

We stopped to catch our breath, hands on our knees. We all had sweat dripping from our foreheads.

I stood up and turned around to see if she was still behind us, hoping she wouldn’t be. But there she was, standing—no, floating—between two trees several hundred feet behind us, watching us. She threw her head back and laughed, an inhuman sound that terrified me to my soul.

Sammy and Boner turned at the horrific scream. “We gotta go!” yelled Sammy.

Before we could run, the witch—and I don’t care what anybody said, that’s what she was—came at us impossibly fast, her arms reaching out and her dirty, broken toenails dragging through the dirt. Her stringy black hair flew around her face.

She grabbed Boner by the front of his shirt and pulled his face close to hers. Her black dead eyes stared into Boner’s blue ones. His mouth opened but he didn’t scream—he moaned, a low guttural tone—and didn’t even stop to take a breath.

The witch backed away slowly, dragging Boner with her.

We didn’t try to save him; we just stood there as they disappeared into the woods. I hate myself for that.

I saw Boner before the trees swallowed them up. He turned and looked at me and what I saw haunts me to this day.

His eyes were wide and completely black like the witch’s eyes. And his hair was now a shock of white. He hadn’t stopped moaning; I could hear the godforsaken sound emitting from his open mouth.

***

Nobody believed Sammy and me when we said a witch took Boner away. The cops told our parents that we were in shock and our traumatized minds made that part up.

That explanation made no sense to me.

There were search parties, of course, and pleas from Boner’s parents on TV to return their son to them, but I knew he was gone for good.

***

It’s been twenty years since that terrifying day. After my parents passed, I moved back into my childhood home they left to me. Sammy had moved away the day we graduated high school and never looked back. We never talked about what happened and kind of drifted away from each other in our teen years.

Lately I’ve heard cackling and laughter from the woods behind my house in the middle of the night. The witch is back, if she ever even left.

But now I also hear Boner moaning from the woods behind my house. Sometimes he calls my name, calling out for me to help him. And I know I should stay away, stay safe in my house at night.

Maybe this time, though, I can save him.

.

Fiction © Copyright Sheri White
Image courtesy of Rie Sheridan Rose.

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More from Author Sheri White:

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

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

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

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

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

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lisa Harris @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 2, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Of coarse there’s still Vampires in Hollywood 
by Lisa Harris 

The moon bleeds on your frozen face
The heart in my hands – still beating
Neon screams as the city roars
Frenzied pleasure feeding
.
Hunger drove the switchblade
down the alley
too far
Stalking the wrong shadows in the dark
.
Now the garbage you swore you’d climb out from
Your ragdoll body rests under
Another lost kid
the sun won’t see
Another meal
for the
Hunter
.
Fiction © Copyright Lisa Harris
Image courtesy of Rie Sheridan Rose.
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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sheikha A. @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 2, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Hansel Loses Gretel 
by Sheikha A. 

It begins like a whisper –
provocative fluttering –
dime-sized hole parting
its lips in a slow yawn.
.
The smell of burning flesh
intoxicating like garlands
of decoy-arum. Turgid
heat enveloping his mind.
.
A blue halo flickers
like an Arabian dancer,
hips widening in girth –
vortex of escape.
.
There is an energy prying
from beyond – familiar
past, smelling of burning
future. Flakes of dry fire
.
swirl as graceful atoms –
bonding to his skin – divine
like quick silver; he looks
like their mother’s magic
.
that saved their father
that night. This could be
his chance to rotate the past –
hold it stagnant – the spells
.
he slept with under his dreams.
Gretel nourished on poison –
little girl on a bed of candies –
some things had to be changed;
.
she has been plucking cakes
from walls that no longer exist.
A fire hearth brews wild caramel
while she sleeps. He must leave
.
to find her again – discover
the path to their never-home –
where father drew them deep.
The vortex before him pulses.
.
Visions of their voyaging –
forest to forest – Gretel’s body
famished and foraging – her eyes
hunting; never ceasing.
.
Fire billows inside her
like moon’s silver rain.
.
He steps one foot into the vortex,
in a flash, he’s back home –
before the hunt –
before the fire.
.
He finds mother farming
tomatoes – red plasma cells –
thick and coagulant; ripe as liver.
Gretel eating and eating – ravenous.
.
And then, fire. Arms of wild gold
embracing their mother’s veins.
The plunge of the stake is abrupt
like confusion when pain isn’t felt
.
only seen. Their mother’s eyes
turn lifeless. Father’s hand stabs
into his arm. Gretel in cue.
The vortex unzips its chest;
.
brother and sister thrown
into future – into never –
only he lands on the other side.
He watches Gretel from a mirror;
.
she stares at the throbbing eye
she thinks she knows. Mother
urging from beyond – plying
hand reaching for hers.
.
Gretel will never be found,
his mind blurring as she resists.
The vortex narrows its lips –
all that was will be what is.
.
She doesn’t stir from addiction,
teeth cherry-grimed, ravishing
the moon shadowing in liquorice.
Tonight’s rain will be black honey.
.
.
Fiction © Copyright Sheikha A.
Image courtesy of Rie Sheridan Rose.
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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 Selah Janel @SelahJanel @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 1, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Whistle a Deadly Tune 
by Selah Janel 

Sasha didn’t know where death was, but it was somewhere behind her. Through the panicked beating of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears, she heard the whistling.

It had started out tuneless when she’d begun her errands, just like the thing in her peripheral vision had begun as a blur and a brief feeling of existential dread.

She’d tried to go about her day, but everywhere she went, it followed. There were no footsteps behind her at the post office, no definite sightings of a stalker at the grocery, but as she navigated what should have been her catch-up time on an otherwise sleepy Saturday morning in small, rural Andersville, it followed. Somehow, she knew that if it caught her, she’d never escape.

Somewhere in the farmer’s market, the whistling also gained a tune. What had started as bright, brassy, and off kilter enough to be unsettling plunged into a minor tune, a dirge that was meant for her.

She couldn’t shake the nagging, cold fear building in her stomach. Every time she turned, something slid away from her field of vision.

She thought she’d found peace in the library, among the new titles waiting to be discovered. Sasha had reached her hand to pluck her holds from the designated shelf, when the tune crept among the pages, trickling between the book spines for her and her alone.

Sasha left her car in the lot, left her duties, left everything behind as she bolted for the makeshift wooded area across the street. She ducked into the open gate of the family garden that held little verses etched in stone and sculpture along a winding path.

The tune picked up into a jig.

She pushed down the path past a mother with a stroller, ignoring the put-out expression and the Cheerios her toddler dropped. At least the crying covered the damn whistling.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, wincing when she stumbled and her ankle twisted. Faces turned to give her withering looks, and she pushed past the hot flush of embarrassment and flash of pain up her leg. She was used to carrying on. She’d just deal, keep going as she always did with work, obligations, the thousand things on her to do list. She’d keep going about her day and try not to die.

As if it caught on to her resilience, the tune slid into the lullaby her mother used to sing. Revulsion curled her stomach, and Sasha took off across the garden in a jog, gritting her teeth against the jabs of discomfort that stabbed into the muscles of her right ankle with every step.

The sing-song melody of the solo she’d been so proud to perform in her seventh grade concert and hadn’t thought about since followed her. It became the pop song she’d danced to at prom. The final hymn of her grandmother’s funeral. The song she’d heard in the grocery that morning.

“Stop!” She covered her ears and bolted through the exist at the other end of the garden. At the last minute, she pushed into the trees at the far side of the garden, curled into a ball in the tall grass and undergrowth, and waited for it all to pass.

It’s in my head. It’s all in my head! It took a few minutes to realize that the only sound she heard was her ragged breath and the occasional chirp of a bird. She panted out a laugh, wiped her face with a damp hand, and sat flat on the grass to take the pressure off her ankle.

Sasha winced as something jabbed her hip and pulled a smooth, flat stone from underneath her hip. It took a moment for her attention to pull outward again as she turned the rock in her hand.

It took a moment longer to take in the music notes that didn’t look to be part of any installation, but were of the rock itself.

The hairs on her arm raised as she terror built once more, deep within her.

She felt a presence behind her and knew if she turned, she’d see what that blur was.

The whistling warbled low, pleased, and right in her ear. She vaguely recollected enough sight reading from her choir days to realize that it was the same brief collection of notes as on the stone.

She also knew enough to know that there was no repeat signature, and that this was the end of the tune.

Fiction © Copyright Selah Janel
Image courtesy of Rie Sheridan Rose.

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More from Author Selah Janel:

Mooner

Like many young men at the end of the 1800s, Bill signed on to work in a logging camp. The work is brutal, but it promised a fast paycheck with which he can start his life. Unfortunately, his role model is Big John. Not only is he the camp’s hero, but he’s known for spending his pay as fast as he makes it. On a cold Saturday night they enter Red’s Saloon to forget the work that takes the sweat and lives of so many men their age. Red may have plans for their whiskey money, but something else lurks in the shadows. It watches and badly wants a drink that has nothing to do with alcohol. Can Bill make it back out the shabby door, or does someone else have their own plans for his future?

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Nikki Blakely @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on March 1, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

When Jacob Comes Calling
by Nikki Blakely

The knock on the door came at a quarter past six.

Fathers arm jerked in surprise, and the spoonful of soup that had been enroute to his mouth splashed a crimson shade of tomato onto the stark white of his Sunday best. His thick brow furrowed and he cast mother a begrudging look. He hadn’t wanted to wear it, but she’d insisted. Twasn’t often we have dinner guests, she’d told him, and certainly none the stature of Father McDormand. Then there was Samuel Witkins, his younger brother Henry, and their mother and father to take into account. 

“We need to put our best foot forward if we want to impress our future inlaws” She’d said as she’d straightened his tie and brushed a hair from his shoulder. In her mind I was already as good as married to Samuel Witkins, though as of yet he hadn’t even asked, and even if he had I couldn’t have said yes. I was already promised to another, as you well know. 

The knock came again.

It was a heavy handed knock, a tightly closed fist that landed on the wooden door with the force of a well-muscled arm — such an arm as might be made from pitching bales of hay, or from chopping thick cords of wood. It wasn’t the light tap-tap-tap of Mrs. Corrigan, our neighbor, who came often to borrow a cup of sugar or a pint of milk. Nor was it the sharp, furtive raps of children playing knock, knock, run. Nay, it was the knock of man who had business with those on the other side, and it would not be deterred. 

All eyes turned toward the door, which could only partially be seen from the curve of the dining room, and a hushed silence fell over the room. It wasn’t until Mary, the housemaid, set down the tureen of soup she had been holding and took a step toward that foyer that Mother finally spoke.

“Mary, no,” she said, raising her hand. Then, softening her face, she smiled slightly, and continued. ”I don’t know any personages of ill upbringing who would come calling during the dinner hour, and I certainly will not reward bad manners.”

The knock came again, loud and insistent.

Mothers eyelids fluttered, and she reached over and placed a slender hand on Samuel Witkins sleeve. “Samuel, your father tells us that you will be following in his footsteps at the bank next Spring?” The hand protruding from Samuels cuff looked very much like Mothers;. long, fine-boned, well-manicured. Doubtful those hands had ever touched a bale of hay, or even a single splint of wood. And equally doubtful they would ever touch me. 

I reached into my pocket, and felt the small circular ring of braided daisy stems that you’d slipped on my finger the day you’d asked for my hand. We’d spread a blanket down in the tall grass behind the stables, and spent the afternoon picking animal shapes from the clouds. You’d pressed your lips against mine, one hand slipping the daisy ring on my finger, and the other slipping up under my skirt, and I’d breathed yes, oh yes into your ear. You told me you’d go to Father that very night for his blessing. But that was over a fortnight ago, and the daisy ring was now dry and brittle.

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Little Henry slipped from his seat, ran to the front window, pulled the heavy woolen drapery to the side, and peered out. When he turned back towards us, his face was ashen white, his eyes as big as saucers. 

“‘Tis Jacob Hill at the door,” he said, his voice trembling. 

At once Samuel was at his side, parting the drapes and looking out, his face equally as ashen when he turned.

“He’s right,” he whispered. “It is Jacob Hill.”

“Impossible,” Father said, rising from the table but Mother pulled him back. “I watched him die. We all went to his funeral.”

Father McDormand stood abruptly, his fingers gesturing the sign of the cross before clutching his crucifix. “Behold the cross of the lord! Begone unholy spirit!”

They’d told me you’d been kicked in the head by one of the horses, but Father was none too saddened by your death, and I’d doubted that was the way of it. I reached into my pocket and slipped the daisy ring onto my finger and went to open the door. 

Dead or no, we had a wedding to plan.

.

Fiction © Copyright Nikki Blakely
Image courtesy of Rie Sheridan Rose.
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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kim Richards @Kim_Richards @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 28, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Premonition
by Kim Richards 

Maribel lounged in the back yard soft grass, beneath a starless night sky. No stars stepped forward to twinkle their light for months now.

I wonder where they are, she thought.

Overhead, the waxing crescent moon floated—the only celestial body in the sky. Its silvery sliver contrasted sharply against the inky backdrop of space.

He’s alone like me. Maribel frowned.

At first, she enjoyed the solitude. She loved living without someone telling her what to wear, where to go, or what she should spend her time on. She didn’t miss money or crazy people on social media. She welcomed the quiet. Now she had the time and need to garden so she turned the entire front yard into neat rows of planted vegetables.

The snap peas barely sprouted when the loneliness set in. Maribel had no one to share a joke with. Eating meals alone bored her. She finally admitted to herself that she missed an occasional gossip. Tonight, it stung sharply so that’s why she went out to watch the moon.

The Copernicus crater, visible on the surface, gave the moon a resemblance to a large eye. Maribel chuckled at the thought. She remembered an old song about someone being watched and hummed the tune.

Then the moon eye blinked. Maribel stopped humming and gaped, wondering if her mind tricked her. She stared hard.

After a few long moments, it blinked again. Its surface changed from silver to a sickly yellow. The air around Maribel warmed quickly and the inky sky became blood. She climbed to her feet and paused. Fire raged around her, leaving her nowhere to run.

Maribel awoke shaking and drenched in sweat. Beside her in bed, her husband touched her shoulder lightly.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“A premonition.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“We’re going to die.” Maribel buried her head in his chest hair and wept.

Fiction © Copyright Kim Richards
Image courtesy of Rie Sheridan Rose.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Florence A. Marlowe @FAMarlowe @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 28, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

In the Dark
by Florence A. Marlowe

She opened her eyes to utter darkness. She fought panic as she stared into what seemed like an endless depth of inky blackness. The pungent odor that assailed her nostrils clawed at her throat as she struggled to sit up. The dark was like a heavy blanket, closing in on her, trying to envelope her/ And what was more alarming, was the silence. The complete absence of sound sucked at her. She felt as if she would fall head first into that vast well of quiet until it engulfed her.

The darkness seemed to drift apart, and her eyes were able to focus. It was like a cloud of shadows parted, She knew that if she simply remained calm her vision would clear. It was confusing and yet it was a knowing. She glanced around her and felt an odd sense of peace spread within as she was able to see her surroundings.

She could also see that she wasn’t sitting or even standing. It was more like floating. It was as if her body had become a soft, misty fog that spread itself out on the gentle breeze wafting in the darkness. She could feel the cool air all round her and through her. As her vision cleared, she realized she was outside and yet sheltered. I was the fetid odor of damp wood and moldy straw that told her she was inside an old shed or barn. Instead of being frightened she was curious. She had no memory of entering the building. In fact, she had no memory at all. If she concentrated hard, she knew she latched onto bits of information that held some meaning to her, but her mind wandered. What was this place? It wasn’t familiar to her.

As she scanned the walls around her, she could see the grain of the wood, old and weathered. The lack of light was no longer an obstruction. If she really concentrated she realized she would be able to see the tiny crevice in each concentric ring of the lumber, the tiny insects burrowed within the pulp and even the infinitesimal atoms that gathered to make the very construct of cellulose and grime that made up each individual plank. But another object below caught her attention. This was something she vaguely recognized, something she struggled to identify at first, to verbalize what she was seeing.

No surprise registered as she realized she was looking at what had once been in her body lying among the debris on the barn floor. She pulled herself closer and suddenly she was mere inches from her own face. How small her body looked, helpless and disheveled. Long, dark hair tangled in a ropey nest amid dead twigs and dry leaves. Her white shirt had been torn, soiled by common dirt. Her arms and legs were twisted in what she was sure was an unnatural position. She could see dried blood smeared on the fingers of one hand and what she found most intriguing was that as her body lay on its back, her once blue eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Only then did she assume she was dead.

She took in the torn clothing that still clung to her broken body and tried to remember what had happened to leave her in such a sorry state. The black pants and white blouse were her uniform. That’s right, she had been a waitress. How odd that this memory hadn’t been available to her right away. Yet she could barely remember performing the act of waiting on tables or even what had occurred before that, who she was or even her own name.

Hovering above her slight corpse she could suddenly hear sound. It was a familiar, mechanical sound. It’s a car she thought with great delight. She felt herself rise on the air and her vision broadened. Through the open door of the barn a slice of warm light appeared and bobbed as it moved towards her. A flashlight beam illuminated the darkness, and she could see the man holding it as he entered.

A brutish figure, large and unwieldly lumbered into the barn, casting a light on the crumpled figure lying on the ground. The barn lit up as if it had filled with daylight and she could clearly see the stranger as he bent over her body.

He was unknown to her. A film of dirt seemed to coat his face and she could clearly see the red furrow of nails raked across his stubbly cheek.

Oh, he’s the one who killed me, she thought.

A flash of terror and a cacophony of sound shocked her senses for a brief moment. She could smell the gassy odor of beer and the stank of his meaty hand over her mouth as the scant memory of only seconds before her death came back to her. He rifled through her torn clothing and the dim sensation of revulsion pierced her mind as she saw him fondle her cold flesh.

“You’re mine, now, bitch.” His voice was thunderous, and she pulled back from him. “You’re my little doll.” His voice was thick with a greedy oiliness. “Mine to play with all I want.”

Helpless, she watched as he cupped her breast and pulled it from her filthy blouse. Unable to do anything to stop him, she stared in horror as his thick fingers played with her nipple. She was physically unable to feel a thing, but deep inside her a rage boiled. She whispered a horrified, “no!”

The man stopped allowing his hand to fall limp at his side like a child caught red-handed. He glanced about the barn, aiming his flashlight into the darkness. She realized then that to him, the surroundings were still murky. She could see him clearly, but to his eyes it was a dark abyss outside the arc of his flashlight beam.

She propelled herself closer. He seemed not so sure of himself as he crouched next to her tiny corpse. Studying his face, she willed herself to remember, but there were no details she could recall. A new emotion welled within her. A deep loathing of this person who she could not remember. He had taken her life in a brutal and heartless way. It had been a brief life; she had been young, and she began to mourn the loss.

A wordless howl of despair escaped her and her murderer jumped to his feet. His shook as he waved the light at the walls.

“Who?” He gasped as he searched the darkness. She found the fear in his eyes delicious.

He slowly began to pedal backwards, unwilling to turn his back on the formidable darkness. The rage filled her again. She rushed forward and her lack of tangible extremities did nothing to stop her from striking him in the chest and shoving him backward.

His bulk was considerable, and she was unable to move him, but the effect it had on him was striking. He shrieked, stumbling over his heavily booted feet, dropping the flashlight. He wailed as the barn plunged into blackness.

But she could still see him. His eyes were wide with terror. He searched his jeans pocket until he fished out a pocketknife. Fumbling to unfold the blade, he continued to stare into the dark. An ugly mewling sound escaped his lips as his eyes darted from one corner of the barn to the other, searching for his unseen assailant.

Rage and hate billowed inside her and she rose above the cowering man who blindly waved the unsheathed knife, cutting through the air. She could sense her own blood on the edge of that blade. He had used it to kill her. For a moment she could feel the cold steel as it sliced through her vulnerable flesh and she unleashed a blood curdling roar of fury.

Her murderer wailed, dropping the knife in the litter as his bladder failed him. He fell back and scrambled on all fours, trying to escape.

She was unwilling to let him go. She lunged at him, the mass of her incorporeal body blanketing him. She could feel his terror. It was sweet. It sang as it permeated her essence and filled her soul. She reveled in his pain.

Gasping and whining, he struggled to his feet. He hurled himself towards the open barn door and escaped into the cold moonlight. She watched as he ran towards the rusty pick-up he had left near the barn, its parking lights still glowing.

She felt a greedy need to follow him, to drink in his luscious panic, but she was loathe to leave behind her body. She hovered in the doorway, content to watch the truck careen as he sped away. When he was out of sight, she turned back to the damaged remains and stared down at her own pale face.

It came to her. Magda. Her name had been Magda. No flood of familiar memories came with this knowledge, but it was enough for now. She floated protectively above the violated corpse. She had plenty of time to recollect as she guarded what had once been hers. She looked forward to savoring the fear of anyone who dared disturb her again.

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

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

Posted on February 27, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Golden Afternoon 
by Kendra Hale 

The air is so fragrant here, my love. 

For anyone else, the warmth of the sun high in the noon sky would have caused a degree of
stress. To what degree, well that depended on the person, but on some level they were
affected.

It could be as simple as a mild case of being parched, or as dire as a case of heat stroke. 
But her Henry would never again know those stresses. 

The flowers are truly in their prime Henry, they are still shaking off the morning dew. The
droplets are catching the prismatic light, the sunlight is kissing the petals brazenly releasing
their best colors. 

With that touch of sun the fragrances are captivating, my love. What a gift this is.

When we first bought this house and the land it sets on, we had so many dreams before us.
What I loved most was that both of our dreams included each other. 

Our bodies carried so much less life then, we were fresher and the maps that traversed our
faces had plot lines that were far less defined. We have lived this life beautifully, my Henry. 

Her work had been mocked throughout the years but she had never paid her critics any mind,
nor did it matter anymore. Through all of her many trials and errors over the years she had
finally perfected the right mixture. The one that would allow her what everyone wanted. More
time. 

“You carefully chose every flower here, my love. Mirrored your beauty with my mind, with this
maze. At the center of it, us.” 

A smile graced her lips as she looked over at her husband, her Henry. His face upturned to the
sun as though he were one of his flowers.

A giggle escaped her lips as she took in his visage. How much I love you Henry, I could not live
this life without you. It had been such a hard truth to take in when she realized it. Without him,
life lost meaning, this man who had become her everything just as she had been his. They had
swam in this loving circle until time came into play. 

She grabbed his hand, not minding the coldness that met her warmth. I was always yours and
you were always mine. Let us stay this way til the end, my Henry. 

She felt her breath catching, and knew it was time. 

“Let us enjoy the golden afternoon one last time, Henry.” 

One last time…

 

Fiction © Copyright Kendra Hale
Image courtesy of Rie Sheridan Rose.

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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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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Linda Lee Rice @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 27, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Shadowy Darkness 
by Linda Lee Rice 

It started when I threw the old man out of my tenement building. He hadn’t paid his rent in months because he was gravely ill. I didn’t care. I wanted the rent. After all, I had a particular lifestyle I was used to, and the old beggar was cramping it.

Yeah, I know, it was heartless that I tossed him out in the street with his crappy belongings, but he OWED me. I was questioned by the cops, but I knew I was legal and had my rights. I didn’t think he would die in the back alley covered by a ratty blanket. Maybe freezing to death was quicker for him anyways.

I shook my head at the thought of the inconsideration that the old man had died in the alley instead of in a nice warm homeless shelter. He only had to walk about eight blocks but chose to die in this alley instead.

But a few weeks later, I started noticing something out of the corner of my eye. At first, it was just a glimpse of something not quite there when I turned. Then at night, when I turned out the light, there was a shadow darker than the rest. But it disappeared when I turned the light out. I figured it was just my imagination because of being exhausted after cleaning the old man’s rat’s nest of an apartment out.

But today was different as I was strolling down the sidewalk enjoying the break in the weather. I felt I was being followed, and the hair rose on the back of my neck. I mean, I’m not afraid of anything. I always have some protection with me, if you know what I mean.

But it was problematic, strange. No footsteps, no sounds, just this feeling. So, I took a shortcut through the alley. The alley was dark except for the dappled sunlight through a few trees. But the alley looked familiar, and I remembered the old man had frozen to death there.

I saw the old ratty blanket was still there and was lying in a filthy heap. All the old man had to do was pay his rent, and his blanket wouldn’t lie there for the vermin to make a nest. Tenants! They never want to take the blame.

As the dappled sunlight faded, I shivered. When I glanced behind me, I saw a shadow and felt an icy hand around my throat. As I looked into the fiery red eyes of the shadow figure while gasping for breath, I knew the old man had decided to collect his debt.

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Fiction © Copyright Linda Lee Rice
Image courtesy of Rie Sheridan Rose.

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More about Linda Lee Rice:

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Linda Lee Rice aka Ruzicka has poetry published in Twilight Times, Dark Krypt, Fables, Descending Darkness, Writing Village, Spine, and Page, Muses Gallery, Bloodbond, Lycan Valley Press Publishers, Alban Lake, Highland Park Poetry, Rosette Maleficarum, The Siren’s Call, Edify Fiction and the June Cotner anthology, “House Blessings” and “Garden Blessings

She has short stories published in The Grit, and Reminisce, Haunted Encounters: Friends and Family, FrostFire Worlds. Plus, a personal essay at Mamalode. She also has various articles and blogs published online as a freelance writer.

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

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

Posted on February 26, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Blood Moon 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

Gabriella and Andrei were awaiting the arrival of the sacred blood moon. They knew that the coming of the celestial orb meant that their coven would have the ultimate power. With the rising of the blood moon the ancient Varcolac would be called forth. Their presence would herald the beginning of the end for all those that opposed their views. The prophecy would become a reality.

The duo were ready to break the seals on the hallowed artifacts. As the first seal was broken a loud trumpet sound vibrated their chests. The loud reverberating sound from the darkened clouds was audible when each seal was broken. They continued until the priestess stopped them. She raised her hands as the group had finally come to the sixth seal. The robed lead cleric read from an ancient book, “And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake, the sun became as black as sackcloth and the moon became as blood.” The priestess looked up to the sky, she saw that the moon was completely engulfed by a crimson aura. She slammed the book shut and nodded at the pair. The elder tossed her head back and began to chant; swaying back and forth as the seal was broken. She suddenly stopped and screamed a high pitched wail as she collapsed. Gabriella and Andrei could only look at each other as a large gash in the artifact began to glow. They turned down the hoods on their cloaks and were frozen in place. They could see hands with large, blood stained talons reaching out. Then more hands and more hands until they pulled open the crack in the relic. There were soft groans coming from within, until it exploded open and the Varcolac stepped out. A cacophony of screams filled the air. The coven all went to a knee and lowered their heads as they paid homage to their venerable leaders. The leader of the Varcolac stood and stretched; his blood red eyes scanned the crowd. He hissed loudly and focused on Gabriella. He leapt onto her as he sank his razor sharp fangs into her face. She tried to scream but was dead on the ground before she even realized what was happening. The leader put his head back and howled at the blood moon. All the Varcolac stopped and all howled with their chieftain. The rest of the coven was horrified and tried to run away from the sacred, ceremonial grounds. The Varcolac were unlike any other that they had ever encountered. The entire coven lay dead in a matter of minutes.

The ringleader then began to speak in ancient Aramaic, “We have been banished to the bowels of the earth for too long, my comrades. It is time that this planet learns of our existence once again. It is time to bring about hell on earth. The seals have been broken and we are finally fulfilling the prophecy. The world will once again tremble at the very mention of the Varcolac. Allow us, my beauties, to feast and feast well.”

Mankind would learn of the terrible Varcolac and their ways. There would be nowhere to hide. These were not normal vampiric beings; these were the purebloods. The planet thought that the end of the world would happen with a bang; instead it would go out with a river of blood and a whimper.

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Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Rie Sheridan Rose. 

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