The Death of Heaven

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by Lyndsey Ellis-Holloway

 

His wings were ablaze, the heat intense as he marched upon the Golden City, alone.

Sammael tore the Gates of Heaven from their hinges, leaving rivers of molten gold in his wake.

The Host tried to stop him, but they could not. They would not. Any who tried were devoured by flame or cut asunder by Scythe.

Entering God’s Throne room, he smiled darkly. “Father, I’m home.” Sammael closed his eyes, hands spread wide, his flames swirling around him.

“Son, don’t!”

Too late.

A deafening explosion shook the Earth and the inferno swallowed Heaven, raining ash on the world below.

 

Lyndsey Ellis-Holloway

A writer from Knaresborough, UK, who focuses on fantasy, sci-fi, horror, and dystopian stories, creating compelling characters and layering in myth and legend at every opportunity. 
When she’s not writing, she spends time with her husband and her friends enjoying movies, conventions, and of course, writing for fun as well!

 

Miss Scarlet Hood

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by Lynne Phillips

 

Miss Scarlet Hood met a bad wolf in the wood.

“Where are you going dressed all in red?”

She pulled a pistol and shot him dead.

A witch appeared. “I’ll cast a spell.”

Miss Scarlet pushed her down a well.

An ogre grabbed at her red cloak.

A knife appeared at his fat throat.

“Got you Missy,” a goblin said with a laugh.

She kicked him howling down the path.

“Don’t tell me tales,” her mother said,

And sent Miss Scarlet straight to bed.

“Tomorrow, I’ll find a dragon that flies,

And Mother will know I don’t tell a lies.”

 

Lynne Phillips

Lynne Phillips lives in the Northern Rivers area of New South Wales, Australia. Her stories have been published by Zombie Pirate Publishing, Black Hare Press, Fantasia Divinity Publishing, Our Wonderful Anthology,  and in various online magazines. She enjoys exploring the craft of writing stories. Her priority is spending time with her family while her passions are reading, writing, keeping fit, and spending time at her farm.

The Woodsman

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by Chris Bannor

 

They gave me an axe and sent me to cut down the heart of the forest. My path was dark; wolves snapped at my steps and gave chase as persistent as the winter snows. I took shelter in the measliest of holes and spent hours scavenging enough food to survive.

When I faltered, she found me, gave me succour and safety from harm. But it is the most bitter irony.

She has filled my heart, this heart of the forest, this girl of snow, but I am the Queen’s Man.
I am the Woodsman and my axe must be true.

 

Chris Bannor

Chris Bannor is a speculative fiction writer who lives in Southern California. Chris learned her love of genre stories from her mother at an early age and has never veered far from that path. You can follow Chris on Facebook @chrisbannorauthor

Protection Racket

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by G. Allen Wilbanks

 

“Grandma, why do you put milk out at night?”

The old woman placed the shallow bowl on the windowsill and pushed the window open a few inches. “It’s for the pixies, dear. When they find a bowl of milk, they know we’re friendly, so they won’t come inside or do us any harm.”

“What kind of harm?” asked the young girl.

“Don’t worry about it, dear. Run along and play.”

“The girl asks a lot of questions,” came a tiny voice from outside the open window.

“You got your milk, you little bastards,” whispered the old woman. “Leave her alone.”

G. Allen Wilbanks

G. Allen Wilbanks is a member of the Horror Writers Association (HWA) and has published over 100 short stories in various magazines and anthologies, including multiple publications with Black Hare Press. He is the author of two short story collections and the novel When Darkness Comes. For more information, please visit www.gallenwilbanks.com.

Escape

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by Jacek Wilkos

 

I dreamed about this horrible city again. I was surrounded by monstrous structures of strange shapes and impossible angles, glowing with faint greenish light. The carvings covering them portrayed bizarre symbols and creatures. I ran through this maze of distorted reality, unable to determine directions. I felt great evil, chaos crawling from every corner.

Far off, I saw a rectangle of warm white light. I ran towards it.

I woke up. I made it; I was safe. The nightmare was over.

The darkness in the room twitched. Something else got out of the dream. It enveloped me.

There’s no escape.

Jacek Wilkos
Jacek Wilkos is an engineer from Poland. He lives with his wife and daughter in a beautiful city of Cracow. He is addicted to buying books, he loves coffee, dark ambient music and riding his bike. He writes mostly horror drabbles.

 

Needing to Forget

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by David Green

 

“Why?” Ruby muttered to Nick.

They knelt beside the sleeping Suraz, his raven hair encrusted with filth and grease. Scabs and sores covered the Nephilim’s obsidian skin.

Track marks lined his exposed arms; used needles lay scattered around him.

“We all have vices,” Nick replied with a sigh.

“No,” Ruby whispered, tears in her eyes. “It’s like he wants to die, but he can’t.”

Nick grabbed a blanket and covered the fallen angel.

“He’s seen perfection.” Suraz’s eyelids fluttered as he dreamt a drug-infused dream. “Lived there, then got cast out. Never to return. I’d do anything to forget too.”

 

David Green

David Green is a writer based in Co Galway, Ireland. Growing up between there and Manchester, UK meant David rarely saw sunlight in his childhood, which has no doubt had an effect on his dark writings. He has been published in places such as Black Hare Press, Nocturnal Sirens, and Eerie River Publishing.


Twitter: @David Green (twitter account does not exist–anny)

Fragile

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by Evan Baughfman

 

Glass slippers sparkled on Cinderella’s feet.

“They’re beautiful! Perfect! Thank you!”

“Hurry along, now,” urged Fairy Godmother.

“Shouldn’t be late for the ball!”

Cinderella stepped towards the pumpkin carriage. The right slipper’s fragile heel snapped under her weight. In fact, the entire shoe cracked.

Cinderella’s foot shifted backward, slicing against broken glass. The girl fell, writhing in pain.

Her severed Achilles tendon sprayed blood.

Panicked, Fairy Godmother struggled to mend the wound with stitching spells.

Cinderella didn’t dance with the Prince that night—or ever, for that matter.

She became an old maid, hobbling to the end of her days.

 

Evan Baughfman

Evan Baughfman is a middle school teacher and author. Much of his writing success has been as a playwright. A number of his scripts can be found at online resources, Drama Notebook and New Play Exchange. Evan also writes horror fiction and screenplays. More information is available on his website www.evanbaughfman.com.

Stormy Little Dream Stealer

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by Hari Navarro

 

I felt the impact as she landed in our bed. That sickly hollow plunge common to nightmares in which we fall but never land. It was sometime after the birth of our third child, I think. And she did arrive in our bed, and she did lay waste to our passion and she turned what we had to dust.

I saw her that next day as you awoke. I saw the flurry of blackened wings as they fluttered behind the blink of your morning eyes. I saw her nesting inside you and I knew then, quite certainly, we were lost.

Hari Navarro

Hari Navarro has for many years now been locked in his neighbour’s cellar. He survives due to an intravenous feed of puréed extreme horror and sticky-spiced unicorn wings. His anguished cries for help can be found via 365 Tomorrows, Breachzine, AntipodeanSF, Horror Without Borders, Black Hare Press, and HellBound books.

www.facebook.com/hari.navarro

Oil Slick

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by Evan Baughfman

 

Glistening, black goo coated the surface of the penguins’ pool.

Albino birds huddled, squawked on land. Though blind, the gentle giants could sense the presence of something unnatural.

I thrust a cattle prod into the “slick,” zapping the dark mass, startling its many eyes open.

Tentacles formed, flailed.

Ragged mouths cried, “Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!”

Then, silence.

I radioed other keepers. “Shoggoth escaped its tank again. Stunned it. Bring barrels for transport. Don’t forget the lids.”

Had to discover how the creature was getting loose!

Its jailbreaks were giving the Deep Ones needless confidence and always threw Nctosa and Nctolhu into frenzies.

 

Evan Baughfman

Evan Baughfman is a middle school teacher and author. Much of his writing success has been as a playwright. A number of his scripts can be found at online resources, Drama Notebook and New Play Exchange. Evan also writes horror fiction and screenplays. More information is available on his website www.evanbaughfman.com.

Brew for Two

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by Clint Foster

 

The thing about potions is, it doesn’t matter who makes them or what their intention is.

A drop of jellied brain, a twist of peeled tongue, some blood flakes. You stir them all together in a cauldron—whatever brand you choose, it’s not that important—and bring it to what we like to call a witch’s boil. You’ll know when it gets hot enough, trust me, and if you don’t figure it out in time, well, it won’t matter anyway. A quick stir, a tiny, tiny sip. Ahh. Brew for two.

Grab a mug, please. Me? Oh, I’m not thirsty.

 

Clint Foster

Clint Foster lives in southern Iowa with his wonderful wife, Nik, and their herd of four cats. He has published dozens of short stories, as well as a novel and an epic poem.

www.facebook.com/clintfosterauthor