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

Posted on January 27, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Luke 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

Luke stepped out of the star cruiser onto the foreign planet. He kicked at the dried dirt. His helmet seemed to be too heavy for him; he adjusted it, “This planet is nothing but dust. I don’t know who told us that there was water on this world but they were sadly mistaken.” As the twin suns began to set Luke could see the reflection of water on the blackened horizon. “Wait! Wait! I think I see water.” He began to sprint towards the shimmering impression of liquid.

The rover that had the rest of the crew followed quickly behind him. Luke stopped on a ledge that was at the top of a large chasm. He was in awe at what he saw. His shipmates got out of the vehicle and were also stunned at the sight that was below them.

“Have…have you ever seen colors like that?” Luke gasped. “Look how vibrant they are. They are so bright that it feels like it should hurt my eyes but mine are fine. Jordan?” Jordan only shook his head. They looked at each other and began to descend into the crater.

When they got to the bottom they could hear a soft humming and muffled chimes. They stopped and listened. Jordan pointed towards the origin of the sound. There were abundant trees and tall grass reminiscent of Earth. All of it seemed to have an internal luminescence as it swayed. It purposely touched the legs of the men as they walked. Suddenly the grass came to an abrupt end; they stood on the shore of a large pond. The neon purple bioluminescence of the mushrooms shone the brightest as they hummed in unison. The two men began to become entranced as bright pink spores began to cling to their spacesuits. The dust began to grow; veins of purple and pink shot across their torsos. The bulbous throbbing vessels began to pulse in deeper hues, then lighter, then darker; in unison. There were no recognizable human features left as the pulsing blob sank into the ground. Puddles of blood boiled to the surface along with clean human bones. The plants surrounding the puddles began to sway and hum in concert. The rest of the crew had already heard the siren song and their fate was sealed.

.

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 Alex Grehy @indigodreamers @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 27, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Tea Dance 
by Alex Grehy

There were other couples there, of course,

but I only had eyes for him, What a cliche 

I thought, then his amber gaze

captured me, his charm reaching out 

even as he extended his hand.

.

“Lady, will you dance with me?”

.

I’d met him on the subway, just a week ago,

went for a coffee, chatted for hours, agreed

to meet again, spending a little more time 

together every day. Which seems so unlike me, 

when I think on it, in those lucid moments 

when I am not dreaming about the soft 

attraction of his voice, unthreatening, platonic. 

.

He invited me to this tea dance, 

civilised, safe.

.

“Lady, will you dance with me?”

.

He asks again, kissing my hand. He sweeps

me into a waltz, my feet following his lead, 

so courtly, so strong, one hand in mine, 

the other on my waist. When the music stops, 

so does the dance, the couples standing still, 

sculptured and lovely.

.

He leads me to the gramophone, flips the

heavy shellac disc, laying the stylus on the

outer groove. He bids me turn the handle.

The dancers come alive.

.

I tug my hands loose, wanting 

to applaud the dancers. 

The plush furnishings disappear, 

we are in a bare basement,

grey concrete, the only decoration 

four bright red hosereels and

the antique gramophone.

.

I see the others moving strangely 

to rhythms that have nothing to do 

with the vintage orchestra that 

I hear playing from the horn.

.

The men are smiling, their lips parted

hungrily, even as their partners gyrate. 

A tango, the twist, a jive, they dance to 

music only they can hear, in a place only

they can see.

.

I laugh, their antics are so funny. I snap

out of my torpor – what am I doing here?

Why did I come to this shabby dive with

a man I barely know. Why am I being

such a bitch, mocking these strangers,

when I should be warning them against…

Against what? They look so happy. 

.

My partner cups my face in his hands.

Immersed in his beauty, I am, once again, 

a lady, a porcelain treasure, as I have 

always secretly dreamt of being.

.

He sweeps me round the room, the other 

dancers no more substantial than shadows.

I am elated, fulfilled, as I have never felt 

before, then the music stops.

.

He holds my hand, turns it gently,

kisses me on the wrist, the sting of 

his teeth so tender. I am lost in his

gaze. How kind he is I think, to drink

my blood so gently.

.

He pauses for a second, whispering 

that I am special, that I can join him

if I choose. I nod and smile, he drinks of

me once more. 

.

The ecstasy of his bite overwhelms 

my will. Yet still I turn my head to 

watch the others feeding, 

greedily, messily. 

.

The women’s mouths are open.

Screaming, I assume, but the

sounds are just a descant to the

melody that guides my feet.

.

I feel a jewelled tear flow down my cheek, 

he wipes it away with a soft hand,

“Do not be sad” he whispers,

“they will not suffer long.”

.

But my tears are for my beautiful

beaded silk dress, the trailing hem 

hopelessly stained by the 

blood drenching the floor

.

Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

147443997_865719290883677_3441953034998826390_n

After a lifetime of writing technical non-fiction, Alex Grey is fulfilling her dream of writing poems and stories that engage the reader’s emotions. Her work has been featured by a wide range of publications including Siren’s Call, Raconteur, Bookends Review, and Toasted Cheese. One of her comic poems is also available via a worldwide network of public fiction dispensers managed by French publisher, Short Edition. Her ingredients for contentment are narrow boating, greyhounds, singing and chocolate. It is a sweet life, yet Alex’ original view of the world has led to her best friend to say ‘For someone so lovely, you’re very twisted!

Please click here to discover more!   

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

Posted on January 26, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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At Last, I am Immortal 
by Naching T. Kassa 

At last, I am immortal. Death with his cold and skeletal fingers, can no longer touch me.

You do not know how long I have waited for this moment. What I have done to achieve it.

It began with my malleable but fragile flesh. As the march of time robbed year after year of my life, I sought the help of surgeons to reclaim them. They smoothed the wrinkles and the stretch marks, nipped and tucked and severed until I resembled the woman I had once been. But it didn’t last. Time raged on, and soon the flesh could no longer hold its pleasing look. No matter how much I cut away.

My energy flagged, and I turned to drugs for vitality, searching for my Fountain of Youth among the many chemicals which lined the shelf. Some granted me the endurance of a 20-year-old. But all the results were ephemeral. For every hour of exquisite energy, I suffered two hours of fatigue. Soon, I could barely move.

Death was hunting me, as he had since the day of my birth. I could feel his slender fingers reaching for me. And so, I turned to Dr. Lazarus Satine and his wonderful machines.

My name on the dotted line was the first price I paid for my immortality. My poisoned flesh came next.

He replaced my right foot with a wondrous machine, covered in silicone skin. I was skeptical at first, the light blue didn’t seem to be the hue I wanted. But he assured me, those who were immortal would not resemble those who had come before. They would be superior in all aspects and design.

And so, I became. I sacrificed my hair for a beautiful head striped with finest blue. My skin, tanned by the moon, possessed an amazing glow. I had never been what one might be called modest, and so I clothed myself in the Satine’s haute couture, a strange, jet-black cloth which covered only what needed covering.

On the last day of my becoming, Dr. Satine presented me with my last piece. The smallest finger of my left hand.

“No longer will you need these tubes of blood to sustain you,” he said, removing them from my chest and back. “The vial in your finger contains a super serum, one which will maintain your needs until the end of time. And the glass can never be broken. It is a polymer of such strength that nothing will ever penetrate it. Not in a hundred years. Not in a thousand. You will live forever.”
I wish I could have believed him. Maybe, if I hadn’t had so many disappointments in the past, I might have. I just couldn’t take that chance. And so, I tore his legs off at the knees, cauterized the wounds, and confined him to his house for the next seventy years.

Just in case.

Death took him today. I watched his eyes dim and heard the death rattle from his lips. I guess he was right. I never needed another body part.

I wonder what he was working on all those years. I could never figure it out.

Today, I took my immortal form into the sun for the first time. The world is much changed from the last time I was out and about.

Something approached me on silent wings, something metallic like me. It looked familiar, like something I may have seen in Satine’s lab. I extended my hand and it landed upon it.

An insect? It had wings and a long needle-like nose.

I felt no pain as it plunged its tiny proboscis into my little finger. But when it began to feast on the serum which pumped throughout my body, I felt the cold clutch of death reaching for me.

He brought me to my knees.

.

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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Christina Sng @ChristinaSng @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 26, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


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Shiny 
by Christina Sng 

The car gleamed in the moonlight. 
 
Norm couldn’t help himself. His stomach raged with envy as he dragged his key across the side of the vehicle as he strode by.
 
He smiled at his handiwork. These bastards didn’t deserve this nice car. He did, he thought, as he admired his unremarkable reflection in the window.
 
The boot popped open.
 
Ah, bonus! He strode to the back of the car to check it out. The darkness was absolute. He could not see anything.
 
Annoyed, he shone his phone light into the abyss only to see an empty boot. In his disgust, he turned away, but in his periphery, he saw something move.
 
A forked, carpeted tongue the width of the boot rose up in the air, rolling itself around him before yanking him back into the boot.
 
The lid slammed shut, breaking the night silence. Gurgling sounds could be faintly heard, along with a muffled wail of agony. The car shimmered for a second before its scratch wavered and vanished.
 
Before dawn, a weary, pregnant dog wandered close to the car. She sniffed the air and sensed it was safe.
 
The back door opened and she climbed inside. She curled up on the seat to rest her tired body. By sunrise, she had given birth. 
 
As the car drove toward the river, she licked her three-headed pup and basked her face in the sun for one last time.
 
Fiction © Copyright Christina Sng
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More from Christina Sng:

A Collection of Nightmares

Hold your screams and enter a world of seasonal creatures, dreams of bones, and confessions modeled from open eyes and endless insomnia. Christina Sng’s A Collection of Nightmares is a poetic feast of sleeplessness and shadows, an exquisite exhibition of fear and things better left unsaid. Here are ramblings at the end of the world and a path that leads to a thousand paper cuts at the hands of a skin carver. There are crawlspace whispers, and fresh sheets gently washed with sacrifice and poison, and if you’re careful in this ghost month, these poems will call upon the succubus to tend to your flesh wounds and scars.
These nightmares are sweeping fantasies that electrocute the senses as much as they dull the ache of loneliness by showing you what’s hiding under your bed, in the back of your closet, and inside your head. Sng’s poems dissect and flower, her autopsies are delicate blooms dressed with blood and syntax. Her words are charcoal and cotton, safe yet dressed in an executioner’s garb.
Dream carefully.
You’ve already made your bed.
The nightmares you have now will not be kind.
And you have no one to blame but yourself.

Available on Amazon!

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

Posted on January 25, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

A Good Girl
by Nikki Blakely

Dawn had just begun to paint the morning sky when I stepped from the cottage, the sweet smell of rain and woodsmoke hung heavy in the air, and a fine mist shrouded the grounds like a half-forgotten dream. I shook my head. My right ear was ringing where Mrs. Bartle had cuffed me upside the head and I could still feel the sharp sting of her palm against my cheek.

“Stupid, lazy, dull-witted, girl!” She’d waved the hot poker she’d used to stir the fire with at me before dropping it to the hearth and coming towards me with her raised hand. “If it wasn’t for the promise I made to your Ma on her deathbed, I’d have thrown you out on your arse long ago.”

Only it was the other way around, wasn’t it? I wanted to tell her. It was Ma who’d made the promise to you, wasn’t it? Before she went and followed Pa to the grave. I’d only been pretending to be asleep that night, the thick wool blanket pulled up tight over my head, and Ma, sick and weak with fever, her voice barely a whisper, was the one that had promised you. “Take care of my Addy,” she’d said. “You can have the house, the animals, you can have it all, as long as you take care of her. She’ll be a good girl, I promise.”

And it was her promise I stood by. But I wasn’t a wee lass any more, and I no longer needed taking care of. And maybe I wasn’t such a good girl anymore, either. 

I’d just finished the milking and was on my way to start the churning when Mr. Bartle’s hefty frame appeared in the narrow doorway of the barn, blocking my path. Of late, I’d noticed his glances lingering on me longer than they should, and I knew it best that I tried to be wherever he wasn’t.

“C’mere love. Give us a little peck. It wouldn’t kill ya to show some ‘preciation.” He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me towards him, and I could smell the strong stink of whiskey on his hot breath. I turned my head sharply and his lips landed clumsily near my smarting ear.

“Too good for me, are ya? Well you’ll change yer mind if you know what’s good for ya.” He spun me around and pushed me out into the yard, and I stumbled, milk sloshing over the lip of the pail onto the ground.

The early morning mist had mostly dissipated, but a vestige still clung to the tight grouping of trees that dotted the edge of the wood just past the clearing. As I looked, I saw what appeared to be a spectral figure bathed in white light step forward, beckon, and then retreat back into the thicket. I reckoned Mrs. Bartle had hit me harder than I thought, but then the figure came again, floating a few feet into the clearing, crooking a finger, then disappearing back into the wood.

I looked back to the barn where Mr. Bartle stood appraising me from the doorway, and then to the front of the cottage where Mrs. Bartle’s pinched face scowled at me from the window. Both of them seemed oblivious to the figure. 

I dropped the pail of milk,, lifted my skirts to my ankles and ran towards the wood.

It occurred to me it had been some years since I’d ventured into the wood, not since Ma had been alive, and I was a bit hesitant to enter, but when I once again saw the misty figure moving deeper into the trees, I followed.

The thin afternoon light filtering through the canopy grew weaker with each step, until at last, having lost sight of the figure, I found myself submerged in darkness. I felt a cold draft swirl around me, and above me a cluster of leaves rustled, then parted, and a thin shaft of light shone down and illuminated a single white mushroom. A deathcap.

I don’t know how long I stared at the mushroom before I plucked it and tucked it into my front pocket, but by the time I found my way out of the wood, guided by unseen hands, night had already descended.

“It’s about time you showed up!” Mrs. Bartle scolded.”Now be a good girl and fetch us a spot of tea before you make supper.”

A smile crept to the corners of my lips as I filled the kettle.

.

Fiction © Copyright Nikki Blakely
Image courtesy of Pixabay
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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 25, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Old Gramaphone 
by Marge Simon 

Welcome, Mrs. Bitefester! My, don’t we look stylish today, love the hat! And how are we feeling after our little ferryboat ride? Scenic, yes? Now do hurry up. We’ve created a special parlor for your stay. Here are two comfy chairs, see? Pick the one you feel best sitting in. They are identical, but you would argue that fact, and we don’t have time for such complaints, mind you. Time has a whole new meaning here, Mrs. B. Now, may I remind you how you wouldn’t tolerate your children having any music of their own, growing up? Well, we’re making sure you continue to have a monopoly on music nobody else will hear or would ever want to hear.  We’re chaining – er, I mean seating you right next to a special old gramophone. We want you to get the full enjoyment of hearing Rudy Valley, your own great grandmother’s teenage heartthrob. The best part is near the end, as he sings using his megaphone, “Has Anybody Seen My Gal?” The record has a wee little scratch just at the end. Yes, it sticks on that one. Sticks forever, actually. Welcome to Hell you nasty old bitch.

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 Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 24, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Gods 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

Jessica wept as she looked down upon her creation as it floated above her palm. She was dumbfounded why they were not flourishing. She had to get some help from her brother. He already had established himself as a creator with his success on other worlds. He was the eldest of all of the gods and she loathed his superior and smug attitude. She had to swallow her pride and go seek him out for some guidance.

She found him on his couch basking in the adoration of his latest creation.

“Jeffrey, do you have a moment? I hate to disturb you but I need your help.”

He sighed annoyingly, “What do you want? Can’t you see that I am busy here?”

She could see his stark red lines on his body glowing. He looked down, “this is what complete devotion looks like. You’re pathetic with your blue. What do you want me to do for you? Take over your world? If I do that I will annihilate all of them just out of spite. Your archaic approach of allowing free will is never going to work. You have to demand complete and total devotion. It’s the only way to be red.”

“Jeffrey, my world may be primitive compared to yours but at least mine are happy.”

“HA! Happy? Mine are happy. They are happy that I am their god. They are happy that their bellies are full and their lives are complete. What does your world have? Pestilence, war, death and famine. Just destroy it and start over, sister. You’d be better off.” He leaned back and enjoyed the devotion being sent his way.

Jessica walked amongst the clouds for what seemed like an eternity. She looked at her world. “Would it be so bad if I destroyed it and started over? “I’ve never destroyed a planet before.” She thought. She began to close her palm. She could hear the crackling of the metal as she brought her fingers into the center of her hand. Jessica immediately had a wave of ecstasy wash over her. Her once dull navy blue lines began to glow a vibrant purple. Her eyes washed over white; her head tossed back and her mouth agape she sighed heavily. Now she knew that it wasn’t adoration that made her stripes glow; it was terror. She smiled widely as she went to find Jeffrey again. She wanted his world.

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

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Terrie Leigh Relf @TLRelf @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on January 24, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Grandpa’s Dark Sedan 
by Terrie Leigh Relf

She was sleek, and yes, she was deadly. Cliched? Yes, but you didn’t know her like we did. Her curious exterior pulsed with sinister light, but her interior belied an evil purpose: Her leather seats were warm and welcoming, her radio played just what we wanted to hear, and her interior lights were soothing. What we least expected but brought us joy, was how she shared stories of the past and futures yet to come. It was as if she knew we were next in line now that Grandpa’s  in the family mausoleum. 

            a familiar

            to guide us

            welcome inheritance

 .

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More from author Terrie Leigh Relf:

The Sisterhood of the Blood Moon

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

Available for purchase from the Alban Lake Store!

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

Posted on January 23, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

con·sump·tion
by Angela Yuriko Smith

I can taste your love.

It rolls of my tongue, delicate

and rare. Like you, a morsel

like no other, a rare breed

that can only grow with your love

in your chest, in your heart meats and

when your heart meets my cleaver

we are both bathed in frissons of

ecstasy, nutrient dense joy

washing over us

soaking the substrate. 

I watch you shiver. I

Know you feel it too. 

My love for you consumes me

as I consume you.

.

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

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

Catch up with Angela here!

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

Posted on January 23, 2023 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Lonely Voice
by Amy Zoellers 

the You in you—-is it your own?

but no, you’re wrong.

it is imbued, suggested by our song,

our music, we, who walk alone

.

and chained here, having wandered weird—

our music, we, who walk alone

we shelter in the gramophone,

suggestions haunt unseen, unfeared

.

infested, this Victrola, filled

with placeless souls who only dare

to flick the drapes, perfume the air

as pained and jeweled songs we share

.

songs to you, accursed, entwined

here chained, having wandered weird

our vessel, relic: left behind

Now who will listen? Who will mind?

Who are we with none to hear?

.

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