The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
by E.A. Black
Johnny, Frank and I broke onto Old Man Whitby’s property to visit The Statue. It was legendary to us college kids.
“Word is Whitby cursed his wife and trapped her spirit inside.” Johnny said.
“I can only think of one thing when I look at her.” I said.
“What?” Johnny asked.
I grinned. “Don’t blink. Blink and you’re dead.”
“Gee, aren’t you funny.” Johnny said. “Some say her eyes glow red at night. You see anything?”
“Jeff’s probably seeing lots of colors ’cause of those magic mushrooms he ate.” Frank said.
He was right. The statue was awash in swirling reds, yellows and purples that sparked before my eyes. I reached out a hand to touch the rainbow and it burst into shards. I giggled.
“Kids who stayed the night were found dead the next morning. Loud crashing sounds come from the ground around her.” Frank said.
“That’s just a story.” I said.
Frank turned to me. “Oh, yeah, smartypants? I dare you to stay here all night alone. You probably won’t notice anything unusual since you’re tripping balls.”
“Chicken,” Johnny said. “Bawk! Bawk! Bawk!”
“I’m not chicken,” I said.
“Then stay,” Frank said.
A horrendous boom echoed around us. Frank and Johnny ran screaming across the yard. I tried to follow but my coat caught on a spike. In a panic, I yanked at it but it held fast.
“Git lost, you punks!” Old Man Whitby bellowed as he ran after Frank and Johnny with his BB gun. Another booming shot rang out. I pulled again on my coat and heard it tear with a sound like bees buzzing. Damn those ‘shrooms!
A creaking sound came from the statue as she jerked her head towards me and sneered, “You’re gonna die next Tuesday.”
I screamed and shrugged out of my coat and then ran after my buds. I couldn’t tell if she really spoke to me or if I was hallucinating. Probably a little of both. I figured it was best to stay in bed next Tuesday. No point in tempting fate.
Fiction © Copyright E. A. Black
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
Nature. Filled with wonder, beauty, majesty and mystery. Also filled with things that want to kill us. Normal things, little ordinary things. Things that creep and crawl. Things that fly, swim, scuttle and slither. Things that you might expect and be rightfully phobic about … as well as things you may have never imagined as a threat. Individually, maybe they wouldn’t be. But that’s just it. They aren’t coming for you individually. They’re coming for you in swarms, in flocks and hordes, in masses and multitudes. They’re coming for you by the thousands. They are … TEEMING TERRORS.