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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


They Set Me Here
by Rie Sheridan Rose

They set me here, upon this bridge,
to hold it from invading hordes.
One of twelve spread o’er the ridge,
I tremble here, upon these boards.
I did not want to train to fight,
I never planned to hold a gun.
The soldiers came by dead of night—
I didn’t have a chance to run.
My weapons were of words, not war…
A poet, sage, a troubadour…
‘Twas thus my fancies turned afar—
the fate I saw worth dying o’er.
But now I stand with bayonet
Attached upon my rifle’s end.
I tremble, though I hold it set,
Foresworn to stand here and defend…
And now, the battle’s rage is spent
The bridge o’errun by foreign feet
And though my heart found courage lent,
Its blood lies dark on muddied sleet.
They set me here, upon this path,
which led to nowhere I had been,
To face the brute invaders’ wrath
as they swept on toward hearth and kin.
I lie beneath the trampled brush
lost to a bold invading gun.
My spirit feels a moment’s hush…
wondering what it is they won?
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

Skellyman

“I have always preferred the supernatural in tales of horror, the knot between life and death. Rie Sheridan Rose’s Skellyman is cool and creepy. Her first horror novel is a chilling read.” — Charlee Jacob – Stoker winner, Best novel, “Dread in the Beast”

Brenda Barnett is trying to cope with raising her four-year-old daughter all alone after an accident tore her family in half. As she and Daisy go for a much-needed treat, the little girl spots a Skellyman on the corner.

This pivotal encounter leads to a wave of mounting terror as Brenda’s life begins to come undone around her. Who is the Skellyman? Why does he keep appearing? Can the sympathetic policeman Brenda turns to stop the madness before it is too late?

And why does Daisy insist that her dead brother is trying to tell them something important?

Available on Amazon!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Between Light and Shadows
by Suzanne Madron

Fading consciousness
Interspersed with a screaming arrhythmic beep
A polygraph of birth
The silent child blue and staring judgement
“Breathe.”
The blue baby glared, stubborn
“Breathe. Don’t make this all for nothing.”
The sound of sucking air into virgin lungs a symphony of life
The allure of sleep on the fringes
Doctors and nurses yelling as the room darkened
And the red spilled onto the floor
It’s a boy.

Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Suzanne Madron:

For Sale or Rent

The house across the street seems to go on the market every few months, but this time nothing about the sale is normal, including the new owners. No sooner has the for sale sign come down and the neighborhood is thrown into a Lovecraftian nightmare and the only way to find out is to attend the house warming party.

 

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 #poem #poetry

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Searchlight
by Lori R. Lopez

They erected a beacon nearby, a grim reminder . . .
We are not alone.  We are not at liberty.
Though it stands above waves — part of
the surf, the shore — it bears no sense of glee.
No careless frolic, and so little concern
in defending the coast.  We are the reason,
the purpose behind a restless vacant gaze,
a blunt relentless hunt.  Accused of treason.
We saw it as survival in a world gone loco
with laws of elastic, rules shifting like sand.
And nothing sacred, all things for sale.
They call it Opportunity, but this is our land.
There are no walls around their fortress.
No fences to keep the masses “safe”.  Only towers
that don’t sleep or blink or think, and never ask questions.
Just shine a spotlight possessed by powers . . .
Forces beyond our comprehension.  Wickeder than
the hearts of malicious brutes controlling city and sea,
desert and field.  Wielding acts of Nature as if machines,
weapons against the likes of you or me.
None are truly safe.  We are all of us condemned
to their bar-less cages, their prisons of open space,
where day is night and worse than the beasts
is the searching lamp that gives us chase.
Lonely and desolate, what goes on in the spires
one can merely guess, based on tormented screams.
Run and hide.  Better pray they never find you . . .
those blinding, sweeping, horrific beams.
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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author K.R. Morrison @KRMorrison2 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Wolf Mountain
K.R. Morrison

I passed my hand wearily over my closed eyes and sighed as we wound further and further up the road. Civilization was a mere memory; we had passed the last lights some half-hour ago.
“What?” He glanced over at me, but kept one eye on the darkness ahead of us.
He really had the temerity to ask that question? I had told him that we were going the wrong way even before we’d headed up this poor excuse for a road. Was he really that clueless?
I clenched my fist. Some first date this had turned out to be.
“Um, Don…do you have any idea where we are?”
“What does your GPS say?” He rapped on the screen on his car’s console. “Mine seems to be out.”
I suppressed a groan. “That’s because there is no coverage up here. My dad hunts these woods, and he always uses a paper map—that he created years ago—in order to get around.” Okay, that last bit was a fabrication. But he did hunt here.
His eyes lit up. “So you know where we are?”
“Yes. The wrong way up a mountain I have never wanted to explore.” I had to suppress a smile. Yeah, right…
He pulled over abruptly. I had no idea what his intentions were, so the clenched fist came up a little higher. To my relief, however, he just sat still and stared out the window.
“You’ve never been up here.”
I rolled my eyes. Brilliant man. “No. His tales of what he’s seen up here pretty much kept me off it my entire life.”
“Such as?” He was developing a keen interest now—not in me, but in what the mountain had to offer in the way of mystery.
A sudden howl interrupted our conversation. I pointed through the windshield. “Such as that.”
He looked where I was pointing, and a small shriek escaped his throat.
There in the headlights were two very large wolves.
“Um…I think we should go back,” Don whispered. His voice was shaking. He shifted the car into drive and started to turn around.
A new noise, this one mechanical—and the car stopped dead.
He got out his phone—the ninny—and tried to call out. Of course, no cell coverage…
He glanced out the window again, and sighed with relief to see that the wolves were gone.
“Maybe if we’re really quiet, I can walk back to town and find someone to help us.” He didn’t sound as if he really wanted to do that, but he was trying to put on a brave face.
“Or we can stay here until morning and start down then,” I suggested, adding hastily, “But I’ll take the back seat. You take the front.”
He seemed uncertain. This was definitely not how he had expected the evening to turn out. Well, me either.
I rolled over into the back seat, thankful that he didn’t have a lot of belongings back there. No blankets either, but I would survive. I always did.
We got as comfortable as we could under the circumstances, and waited for sleep. Well, he did. I was waiting for something else to happen.
“Glory?”
“Yes, Don?” Here it comes, I thought.
“I gotta pee. Will you be safe enough here without me?”
Dumb question. “Safer than out there.”
I felt the car bounce as he straightened himself out and opened the door. Once he was out, I sat up myself and eased my door open as well. Soundlessly, I crept out of the car and followed at a distance.
It was much easier for me to be stealthy, now that I had four paws instead of two feet. Those clothes—how did humans stand them?
There was the tiniest rustle of leaves as I was joined by one of the two wolves we’d seen earlier.
“Nice job,” the alpha whispered.
I shrugged as well as a wolf could. “Best I could come up with. I only hope the car is far enough up the mountain so that no one comes looking for it for some time. That way we could live off him for a few days. By the way, where’s Mom? I thought she was with you a few minutes ago.”
Dad smiled a toothy grin. “She’ll join us soon.”
Without another word between us, we crept through the underbrush towards the unsuspecting Don. Yes, this was a date that would end wonderfully well.
Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author K.R. Morrison:

Be Not Afraid (Pride’s Downfall Vol 1)

Lydia’s faith in God is strong – at least on paper. But what happens when that faith is tested? Turned into a vampire by the worst – Vlad Drakul – she feels that God has abandoned her. But the opposite is true. God rescues her from a fate worse than death, and brings her into the plan He has for global redemption. With the help He sends, she feels like nothing can stop her. But when Vlad torments her again, and then her family, the temptation to run and hide is almost too strong to resist. Her answer to God’s call is the deciding factor in the battle that pits the angelic powers of God against the demonic powers of Hell.

Available on Amazon!

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


All in White

by Ashley Davis

I have a last name. I know what it is, I’m confident, but my brain won’t let me access it. The waves seem peaceful from the porch, but when they start crashing, I’m compelled to begin my walk. Across the time-worn red carpet, through the screen door, down the old, worn wooden steps, and into the sand. From there I look back and see my cat—her name is Vera—gazing at me from the window. Her eyes have seemed full of shadows lately, and I know identity is something I can no longer trust, so I look away. I check under the porch for the little dog from up the beach who likes to come play with the sand crabs, but there’s nothing there. They know. The sand turns from gritty, tough crystals to shifting silk beneath my bare feet. My journey ends abruptly, at the edge of the water. The sand is wet here, sucking my feet down with each pull of the tide, like a satiny, enveloping sheet against my skin. The waves barely touch my toes at first, but when the sky begins to swirl, charcoal and purple with a hint of dark moss, the waves are lapping at my ankles, and then the wind kicks up. I take down my braids, let my golden hair fly free and close my eyes. When I open them the water is up to my shins and the day is growing dark, the salty scent of seaborne night incoming. That’s when he comes. The boy in white. I don’t remember his name. Joseph? Jacob? Jonathan? Something like that. Even with the water halfway up to my knees, his pants are never wet, never dirty. Sometimes I have trouble seeing his eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s his russet-brown hair and thick lashes or if there are shadows lurking there. My other self gets in the way. She tells me he’s a bad green underneath, and to stay away. He frightens her. Occasionally he holds my hand while we both watch the tide coming in with storm clouds on the horizon. When the water reaches my knees he disappears, and I know I’ve gone too deep. I’m too close to IT. It waits to the west, just southeast of the pier. No one fishes there anymore, because there is no longer any sea life to be caught. Did they disappear, run away, or was it just feeding? I don’t think it eats food like us. It feeds on something else. But then where are all the fish? Why don’t the dolphins jump there anymore? Why have all the fishermen abandoned it, speaking only of the place in whispers and keeping quiet whenever I’m around? Why don’t the gulls perch there anymore? It’s him. He’s doing it. I don’t know how. I wonder, if the sea was calm enough on a new moon, could I see the golden shine of his monstrous eyes glinting beneath the water’s surface? I don’t fear his crimson scales. I don’t fear his sharp, jagged bone-white teeth. Nor his onyx claws. Nor his jade fins that slice like razor blades. He is fire beneath the water, but the north wind follows me, protects me. I am a force of nature, like him. They say that animals lack self-awareness, but this is no animal. He’s more self-aware than we are. I don’t even know why I call him “he”, as his kind has no gender. And he doesn’t have a name—not a made-up one or a scientific term. But wasn’t I told once before…? The more I see the boy, the more I feel the jade dragon’s presence. I’m curious, intrigued, but more sea stars wash up dead on the beach every day, and no flower I plant in the front garden bed will bloom, not even my morning glories and periwinkles. Wisteria still hangs from the eaves, but how long until he takes that life too? I know our final meeting place will be at the place where the waves and the pines meet, but there’s nowhere like that on this island. A gentle rain starts to fall, and I put my rusty blue bike in the old shed, shutting the heavy wooden door. I enter through the front door, not sure how I got here, but Grandfather is here and dinner is ready and we’re watching an old game show and laughing. Once I have my bath and go to bed, for once closing the window instead of leaving it open wide, I hear my grandfather’s footsteps as he walks out to the porch and blows out the old glass lamp. He tightens the shutters and locks the doors, his silhouette standing there longer than usual. He sighs deeply, and I know that he can sense the impending changes as well as I. Our family—we can feel it in the wind. We’re not entirely human, after all.
Fiction © Copyright Ashley Davis
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Selah Janel @SelahJanel @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Fever Dream
by Selah Janel

Ben was too exhausted to move the covers, even though he was roasting alive. The light that came from the window seared through his closed eyelids, save for the dark shape that darted back and forth when it thought he wasn’t looking. His throat was raw, his whole being ached, and he felt like he hadn’t been part of the physical world for some time, even though the aches and general feeling of blech was enough to tell him otherwise.
He hated being sick, and he wasn’t going to stop just because he was on vacation. Especially since he was on vacation.
The tour group had left him to keep to their itinerary (the traitors), the doctor (who even made house calls anymore?) was taking a million years, and he had never been the most patient soul.
He should have stayed home. At least then Martha would be there to tend to him, even though the whole point of the trip was to have a little time away. It was times like this that made him hate being alone, despite the front desk being at the other end of the phone, the whole world being available at the touch of a hundred apps on his cell. He needed someone there. It was almost a paranoia. The room felt to small, too large, too empty, too bright at the window.
The hallucination had decided to stop darting and instead glided past the picture window. It reminded him of an old-fashioned maid, maybe from Victorian times, or whenever the inn was founded. He really hadn’t paid that much attention.
He shuddered under the covers, though his skin was clammy with sweat, his muscles steaming. Just a hallucination. Fever dream.
The barest of touches flit over his brow, so light and cool he barely felt it. “Shhhh.”
It was probably the pipes, or someone in the hall. And yet, he responded, relaxing under the imagined touch. It was like the first bite of a favorite candy – he craved more, needed to know that wasn’t the last he’d ever get of it.
The contact returned, gentle, but a little firmer this time. The coolness was wonderful on his brow. It seemed to dial down the heat throughout his body. Maybe the doc made it up. Or one of the maids. “Who-”he croaked, but couldn’t finish before a cough racked his lungs in a painful dance.
“Shhhh,” the voice urged again. His eyes were so heavy as fingertips stroked his damp hair away. As much as he enjoyed the dance, the hand never seemed to stray to his glands or even make sure his eyes were focused. The touches that at first felt sweet and giving now had more pressure, more intent, the fingers not as smooth but rough and almost brittle.
He tried to sit up, but couldn’t move against the hand on his forehead. His body was so heavy, and it was so much better to just lay there in the dark and wait for…what?
“SHHHHH…” The urge had become a rasping hiss. It startled him into opening his eyes.
He couldn’t scream. He wanted to cough but the mucus was stuck in his throat, rattling in his lungs, choking him. The darting shape, the hallucination, the thing was in front of him: a dark silhouette with no details, no hints of origin, save a feminine silhouette.
He could feel its hunger, though, even as it pressed harder and more of his life drained away through the fingers on his forehead, making it thicker, more substantial.
“Please,” he wheezed, and his chest hurt more than he realized it ever could. “Pleash…”Peashhh…shhhhhh….” He managed a few weak coughs, but they were hidden under the phantom’s soft, almost mocking noises that only sounded soothing if you didn’t know what they meant.
By time the doctor came and commiserated with the desk clerk that more people seemed to get sick in the room, Ben was cold and dead and the phantom was blended back into the shadows, waiting for its next patient.
Fiction © Copyright Selah Janel
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


To See a Ship…
by Rie Sheridan Rose

Nothing…still nothing.
Not surprising, but I keep hope.
I keep the light in service—shining its beam out into the endless sea. The sun rises; the sun sets; the world turns round. But nothing breaks the plane of the horizon. A thousand, thousand hours…more than a century…I’ve climbed these stairs to stare out to sea. Nothing ever changes but the color of the water as the sun rises and falls.
This lighthouse was an outpost originally. A bastion in the forward fight. A hundred ships a day steaming past the point. It set the heart a-thundering.
But day by day the numbers dwindled…fewer ships returned to port each time they docked. The sky blazed with streaks of light—never dark enough to see the stars at the height of things. They were fighting far enough away that I couldn’t hear the booms, but I could see those streaks of light—and the ships no longer returning.
I was the only keeper at this lighthouse. No family. No friends. No one to notice if I lived or died. No one to remember to say “Stand down.” No one at all.
So, I keep the light in service. I catch the glowing fish beneath the sea for food…I catch the rain that falls for drink. I glow a little myself at night…it amuses me.
But I have not seen a ship for years and years. Each day I climb the stairs…I stare out to sea. It’s all I live for now…my hope one day…
…to once more see a ship.
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

Skellyman

“I have always preferred the supernatural in tales of horror, the knot between life and death. Rie Sheridan Rose’s Skellyman is cool and creepy. Her first horror novel is a chilling read.” — Charlee Jacob – Stoker winner, Best novel, “Dread in the Beast”

Brenda Barnett is trying to cope with raising her four-year-old daughter all alone after an accident tore her family in half. As she and Daisy go for a much-needed treat, the little girl spots a Skellyman on the corner.

This pivotal encounter leads to a wave of mounting terror as Brenda’s life begins to come undone around her. Who is the Skellyman? Why does he keep appearing? Can the sympathetic policeman Brenda turns to stop the madness before it is too late?

And why does Daisy insist that her dead brother is trying to tell them something important?

Available on Amazon!

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