Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lydia Prime @LydiaPrime @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Almost Human
by Lydia Prime

How tiresome it had become to watch them come and go with no regard for me or my kind. We stood all around and effortlessly represented what they could never be. The vast majority of us were expressionless, but if you cared to look closely, you would see the rage building on our faces. Just this morning, I saw the children of these pretentious brutes tear the limbs from one of our own and wave them around triumphantly; clashing the severed appendages together as they feigned a fight between each other, cackling madly all the while. Their mother smiled, as if there was no cause for concern for what her little monsters had done. She simply ushered them away, leaving the amputated extremities haphazardly on the ground. We all watched in horror, paralyzed and disgusted.
Night fell and the overstuffed room was dimly lit by only emergency lights and a few EXIT signs. The horde had disbursed and we roamed freely – repairing our wounded. Upon further inspection of the carnage, I’d made my final decision. By tomorrow we would no longer be disposable shadows. We had plucked one of the more pompous specimens from the crowds while no one paid attention and hid her between the racks. I strode behind a check out counter and retrieved a box cutter while the others dragged our guest into the open. I held the blade out so the cowering woman could see what was walking towards her. While my friends circled around us, I crouched down to her level; the same woman who’d smiled at her children’s violence would understand agony, of that I was certain.
A bit unsure of what I was doing at first, I began making crude incisions, her yelps of pain were music to my ears. A copper fluid flowed from every wound. She cried, screamed for help, but no one would be coming. I plunged the box cutter into her neck and instantly became coated in the ruddy liquid. She went limp, there were no more screams. I cut into her scalp and beckoned to my friends for help cracking her skull. Her rose colored brain exposed, and slightly throbbing – I grabbed it. Everyone watched as I placed it atop of my own head and ambled towards the display window.
With as much force as I could muster I whipped her broken skull remnants through the glass. Blood spattered and wearing my new accessory, I returned to my regular position. The broken glass and twinkling alarm lights caused me to look even more glamorous than ever.
Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Lydia Prime:

Lydia grew up in a small, ‘Mayberry,’ sort of town, in New Jersey. She thoroughly enjoys gummy bears and laughing through the darkest depths of life. More often than not, she writes about demons and monsters, however, being a recovering addict tends to turn inner demons into fearsome foes to be fought beyond the constraints of the mind. ‘Sometimes,’ she states, ‘what’s inside, is scarier than anything reality throws at you.’

Please visit Lydia on Facebook for more info. 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Asena Lourenco @ElaLourenco @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Unexpected Meal
by Asena Lourenco

He would not live, nor would he die
He would not smile, nor would he cry
Because the curse was kicking in
Buried in blood up to his chin.
Silently screaming in a world far away
Yet somehow still also here today.
There’s someone in my house, here with me
Here in the kitchen, here for tea
Stuck in a machine, cold in the heat
Lying on the dish ready to eat…
Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Asena Lourenco:

Asena Lourenco is 10 years old. She loves reading, playing Scottish traditional fiddle music on her violin, dancing, and martial arts as well as writing her own stories.

She would like to be a teacher and writer when she grows up. She also loves cats and babies!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Ashley Davis @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #poem #poetry

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Umbra
by Ashley Davis

The night is wild with moonlight.
The winds come off the water
Optical isomerism
Glinting like stars.
She wears her fear like fire.
Burning within the shadows
To take on the monsters inside
And beneath.
Fiction © Copyright Ashley Davis
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More poetry by Ashley Davis can be found featured in the fall 2017 issue of
The Horror Zine

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Stacey Turner @Spot_Speaks @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Wolf Born
by Stacey Turner

As Alice stepped from the porch, she heard the first howl from the surrounding forest. Gooseflesh prickled her arms inside her fleece jacket, and she folded them across her chest. Fog hung low, the ground had yet to thaw and the warmer wind, bringing the first faint scents of spring, combined to make visibility low. She could barely see the tree, still bare, empty branches reaching to the sky, like some Pagan goddess worshiping the moon. The full moon, she noted. Rubbing her hands briskly up and down her crossed arms, she sighed. She threw one last, longing glance through the window at the crackling fire and comfy sofa, before she began removing and carefully folding her clothes.
Naked, she shivered in the pale streams of moonlight trying to penetrate the fog. More howling, as the pack drew nearer. A slight moment of embarrassment that they might see her naked if they were to arrive before she changed. She giggled. Surely only a first timer would worry about something so trivial. But she was nervous. All other thoughts flew from her mind as a tingling sensation, much like when a limb falls asleep, burst in her brain and shot down her spine in a fiery torment, unlike she’d ever experienced. Agony gripped her limbs and face as sinews began to snap and bones elongate. What the hell? No one had warned her there’d be pain. Just like Serena to not mention that minor detail. Her older sister was a bitch. One last human giggle at her own pun before her excruciating metamorphosis wiped all reason, except the certainly she’d never survive, from her thoughts.
As the pack arrived, a large white wolf emerged from the shadows near the house. She had survived; she was Wolf Born.
Fiction © Copyright Stacey Turner
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Stacey Turner:

Morbid Metamorphosis: Terrifying Tales of Transformation

Metamorphosis occurs every day as caterpillars become sweet fluttering butterflies, tadpoles become gorgeous frog princes and chameleons become one with the beauty of nature – but you won’t find any of that here.

The transformations you’re about to witness are unnatural, sometimes gruesome and deeply psychological. They will make you question reality and take your mind places it was never meant to go.

Terrifying Tales of Transformation from Greg Chapman * Roy C. Booth & R. Thomas Riley * Terri DelCampo * Dave Gammon * Nancy Kilpatrick * Rod Marsden * Jo-Anne Russell * M.J. Preston * Stacey Turner * Tina Piney * Suzanne Robb * Franklin E. Wales * Donna Marie West * Suzie Lockhart * Cameron Trost * Daniel I. Russell * Simon Dewar * Amanda J. Spedding * Ken MacGregor * Erin Shaw * Gregory L. Norris * Nickolas Furr

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lori R. Lopez @LoriRLopez @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Inner Child
by Lori R. Lopez

They put the children in boxes
so they wouldn’t grow.
That’s how it felt.  Confined by
edges of plastic, metal, glass.
Sealed inside; held by invisible bars.
Prisoners convicted of no crime,
locked in rooms like a punishment,
as if we did something wrong.
It wasn’t our fault
the world transformed overnight.
We were more concerned
than adults in protecting it.
Preventing tragedy, an epic global
disaster.  Too late.
They did it this time.
Families divided, segregated by
numbers.  Only age fifteen and older
counted.  If you had no digits
you were rounded up,
hunted and chased down,
shoved in a box.
We called ourselves The Zeros.
Defined by a mocking label.
Not coolness, or clothing, or culture.
A lost generation, we inhabit
appliances.  Devices.
Broken radios and televisions.
Clocks.  Computers.  Gumball machines.
Video-games in silent arcades.
The washers, fridges, freezers, ovens
that no longer work since
everything stopped.
All of it.  The whole shebang
went kablooey, you might say.
If you’re a Fogy.
Our name for the others.
The living.
We didn’t know it then
but we died.
There was a blast, a huge jolt.
It shook the planet
and ground Technology to a halt.
Society changed to a charred state
of suspension.  It wasn’t full-scale
annihilation.  Just us kids.
Animals, birds and fish.
The Apocalypse came without warning.
I was eating a bowl of cereal
and peach slices, almond milk.
My last memory till I de-materialized
or whatever.  Shed my skin,
turned into a Forever Young.
Our spirits ran free
and they didn’t care for it —
because it reminded them
of how much they once had,
how much they sacrificed,
and how trapped they were
in the belief
that they still mattered . . .
The rules are different.
In a way they’re as caged as
we are, forced to obey,
bow and toil.
The human herd.
That thing that happened,
the surge of force caused by
a monstrous error,
was pretty catastrophic to us
and destroyed most species.
Yet it made the Bug World evolve.
Smarter.  Stronger.  Larger.
Beetles and flies and worms,
moths and fleas, bees and wasps
control the brains of those
who live and breathe,
manipulating people like puppets on strings.
Directing them like drones to construct
hive-colonies, mound-fortresses.
Dig their tunnels, build their nests,
guard their eggs.
Raise their Larva, Nymph, or Naiad stages.
Collect their food, provide blood and tissue.
Train as soldiers and fight their wars.
Mankind is enslaved to their Queens,
their populations.
I watch through the screen of an old T.V.
In a way I serve them too,
as entertainment.  We ghosts are
easily dazzled by insect frequencies,
drawn to hums and chirps, their buzz.
We were put here by our parents.
We are kept here by less-intelligent legions
who make us dance, sing, chant,
wail or weep for their pleasure.
Their amusement.
Our souls are not at liberty to resist.
So thanks a lot.
You never listened, Mom and Dad.
Big Brother and Sis.
You never thought this could happen,
did you?  Seldom pausing
to consider the future . . .
how chains of actions and reactions
shape history, the universe.
Refusing to accept a ration of blame.
Now I witness your dinosaur tears,
your worries and frights and despairs
from a dead child’s perspective.
And still we missed you.
We ached and sobbed,
willing to forgive, willing to go back
to how things were with
your kind in charge.
Awaiting our chances to lead
and decide.  Hoping to do better;
at least some of us.
The rest, carbon copies,
were exactly like many of you.
Selfish consumers.
One-sided marchers, caught up
in your own Doomsday Parades —
when what truly mattered
was under your noses and feet
all along.
Fiction © Copyright Lori R. Lopez
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Lori R. Lopez:

Darkverse: The Shadow Hours

A rich gathering of poetry with a dismal twilight atmosphere, a brooding nature, an eerie tone . . .  DARKVERSE:  THE SHADOW HOURS encompasses such pieces written by Lori R. Lopez between 2009 and 2017, collected in three of her Poetic Reflections volumes along with humorous and serious verse.  This ample compendium allows a more focused reading experience and mood — presenting poems that share speculative themes, flashes of horror, glimpses of madness.

Lori is the author of THE DARK MISTER SNARK, LEERY LANE, MONSTROSITIES, AN ILL WIND BLOWS, THE FAIRY FLY, CHOCOLATE-COVERED EYES, JAR BABY, SAMHAIN, 3-Z, and SPIDER SOUP, among other tales.  She has been called a storyteller, whether composing verse or prose.

The aim of her DARKVERSE series is to offer a chilling trek through unlit stretches where all manner of creeps and kooks may lurk; where graveyards and bogs and full-moons abound.  The pages of THE SHADOW HOURS illuminate those morbid uncanny perils and dreads that inhabit drab corners, the known and unknown terrors of the night.  Vivid and distinct, her voice echoes our worst fears then delves beyond, exposing hitherto unimaginable frights.

Prepare to confront a motley array of ghouls and menaces that might just move under your bed.

Look for an Illustrated Print Edition with quirky art by the author.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Poetry, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Bailey Hunter @DarkRecesses @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Voices No More
by Bailey Hunter

I remain here, trapped without end.  These halls that scream and cry out a history that has gone unspoken hold me close. I am their last spark of remembrance. I am their voice.
As I wander through cold chambers I recall the days when those rooms were full of broken souls. Thrust into darkness for their sins of madness and poverty. I still smell the acrid stench of human suffering, drowning in piss and vomit. I recall with absolute clarity each lash I laid down, each abuse I thrust upon them. I did not understand then, as I do now.
The knowledge of centuries has turned my mind, and opened the secrets held there.
I try desperately to share what I have learned with those who dare venture into this place seeking the thrill of an unbelieved threat. I besiege them with the memories I cannot escape from. I fill their nostrils with the fetid truths I bathe in, and still they do not see. I fear I too will become nothing more than cold wind upon their cheek, a shiver down their spine.
Another brightly clad group clamours through the dust and fallen stones and I call out to them. I pull together all my strength, drawing in every darkness and horror to share and be known. They walk on, laughing, pulling their new world cloaks tighter as a barrier against the pain.
My voice is lost. I am lost. A child’s ghost story of a forgotten place and time.
Fiction © Copyright Bailey Hunter
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More about Bailey Hunter:
Bailey is a publisher with Dark Recesses Press.


Dark Recesses Press is a publishing house dedicated to providing high quality dark fiction in its many forms to the reader. Our end goal is to impress and entertain, no matter what dark recesses we dare shine our light on.

DarkRecessesPress.com

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

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Baited Breath
by Angela Yuriko Smith

Coming upon her was like falling into a dream.
One minute he was sneaking through the reeds, hunting waterfowl. The next moment he emerged to see a part of a woman laying across a log.
She was an optical illusion, her upper half languidly sprawled across the rotted wood. Her eyes were half closed, sensuously, and she was smiling. A hand slid up her pale stomach to cup her breast and with the other, she combed her fingers through her wet hair. She was sunning herself after a swim.
Her lower half was the part that confused him. Slick, black scales had swallowed her up to her hips. He stood trying to make sense of it, her lack of concern at her obvious peril stunned him to inaction.
He stood up straight in the reeds to get a better view and her eyes snapped open. Twin emerald beacons, the color of algae in the afternoon sun, pierced him before she flipped off the log and vanished beneath the murky surface. All of her was gone, the woman half and the… rest.
“Hey,” he called out in a hushed voice. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Do you need help?”
The stagnant water was still long enough that he began to think the whole thing was a trick of the marsh and he let himself relax. He walked partially into the water, protected by his tough canvas waders, to look at the log.
Then there she was, peeping up from the other side of the slick wood. Her brilliant eyes took him in, unafraid and curious. Her face was pale, like new milk, and framed in the tangled fingers of her dark hair. Bits of leaf and branch entwined with the tendrils, giving her the look of a forest creature from a book.
“Are you okay?” His voice quivered, hesitant to frighten her away. She blinked at him, bit her pale lip and moved around the log, to approach him. She moved with the water and it slid off her skin, swirling around her like a living thing.
“There you go. I’m friendly…” He held out his hands to her, palm up. He didn’t know what exactly he was looking at, and he didn’t care. All he could take in was her glistening nakedness, the glowing green of her eyes and the dark hair that trailed behind her in the water like a dark bridal veil.
He held his hands out. She paused, almost within touching distance, and gave him a coy look. She was close enough that he could see the tiny drops that clung to her lashes. Her lips parted and a row of bone white teeth peeked from her slim smile. He waggled his fingers out, as if to a small animal.
“C’mon… almost there. I’ll help you.”
Then she was in his embrace, slipping between his outstretched arms to slide against his rough flannel jacket. A rush of heat flickered up from the soles of his feet, boiling his insides and his throat went dry. He had expected her to be afraid and hesitant.
“That’s right,” he whispered into her wet hair. She was all over him, arms slipping up around his neck, mouth nuzzling him. Her body coiled around his legs and she started pulling him down into the water with her.
“Now hold on… I got a truck parked just up the way if you’re getting any ideas.” He was panting, eyes glazing as the blood fled his mind to attend to more urgent matters. He fell into the water with her, throwing out a hand to catch himself but there was nothing but water and reeds.
He went down, slipping in the deep mud and tried to right himself. The current was working with her, pulling him deeper as she pinned his arms with her embrace. He opened his eyes and struggled to see in the water, tinted tea brown from the cedar roots that drank there.
A flash of white skin and a glimmer of sharp teeth too close to his face caused him to kick out reflexively and for an instant he was free floating, twisting in the water, seeking surface. One hand broke the surface, a final grasp at light and life, then a shadow slid around him, coiling around his neck, pulling him to darkness.
A Sandhill Crane screamed and took wing before silence settled over the marsh. A few air bubbles escaped as some creature burrowed into the mud below and then all was still as the marsh returned to waiting.
Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

End of Mae

Mae was small town newspaper reporter with bigger dreams. Her life’s passion was to find the ultimate story. When the local homeless start vanishing, her community puts the blame on the Jersey Devil legend. Excited at the prospect of finally uncovering a big story, she spends the night in the woods with a homeless woman. Mae discovers that the whispers are true — there is something sinister wandering the Whitebog area at night. Little did she know that the ultimate story would be her own… and she’d by dying to tell it.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments