Snow Flower

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by Dorian J. Sinnott

 

It was when the silver moonlight touched the freshly fallen snow that I saw you again. Out amongst the birches and pines. The frigid night. The dead of winter.

How it ate away at your blued lips and flesh. Gnawing down to the cold bone. Clinging to your lashes—painted white. Beneath the shower of snowflakes, I bid you farewell.

For the last time…

***

My garden of ghosts, how much it’s grown. Buried bones beneath the frozen earth. Lost. Forgotten.

Yet every winter, upon the first snowfall, still I find you. Like an airy perennial. Blossoming under the winter moon.

 

Dorian J. Sinnot

Dorian J. Sinnott is a graduate of Emerson College’s Writing, Literature, and Publishing program currently living in Kansas City, MO with his two cats. He is a member of the Horror Writers Association and Horror Authors Guild. Dorian’s work has appeared in many magazines and journals, including Riggwelter, Crabfat Magazine, and HauntedMTL.  Website Link: www.doriansinnott.com

 

Ebenezer’s Corner

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by Raven Isobel Plum

 

When my dog, Ebenezer, stared at ‘nothing,’ I always assumed he heard something outside the house.

Yet, each day, he spent more time guarding the shadowy corner, increasingly transfixed, not allowing us near.

When Miss Jeanie, the psychic, came, she pointed to that exact spot with bangled arms, saying, “You have an extra inhabitant here.”

Unsettled, we followed her advice. We left out a chair and sometimes a cup of tea. Burnt sage and prayed. Peace offerings. It might’ve worked.

Miss Jeanie neglected to tell us ghosts can be dangerous.

Now when my dog stares, it’s me he’s staring at.

 

Raven Isobel Plum

Raven Isobel Plum writes about things that go bump in the night, the shadow side of life. Afraid of the dark but admits “Not-good-enough” is more terrifying than any demon. Stories allow the discovery of who we are beyond all the masks we wear. Follow Raven on Instagram.

 

Something Old

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by Susan Vita

 

Rosia navigated the aisle alone. She came from a line of widows, but it was poppycock that the veil was cursed. Her candlelight satin dress suited the heirloom and hid her growing belly.

The groom took her hand, and tears slid down her cheeks when she saw him. He lifted the veil, but cringed away from the crumbling, putrid flesh where his young wife’s pretty face should have been. He fell to the ground, clutching his chest.

As he inhaled his last breath, Rosie’s face went back to normal.

Her sisters embraced her and walked her out of the chapel.

 

Susan Vita

Susan Vita is a writing tutor who lives near Nashville, TN. She has had a handful of her contemporary and horror pieces published.

 

Witching Hour

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by S. Jade Path

 

The veil is always thinnest on Samhain.

Kylie cast her spell with trembling fingers, before stepping through the fluttering, gossamer threads and into a world of glittering wonder.

Just a quick peek can’t hurt, she thought.

***

Distantly, sonorous chimes announced the passing of midnight. The stars winked out as one, and with a snap, the veil turned to rubber.

Kylie pushed at the barrier with her foot. It gave as it always did, bouncing back as soon as her foot moved. She flopped against the wall, a scream of frustration echoing around the opulent room—now her gilded cage.

 

S. Jade Path

Jade Path is a fledgling author of short fiction, and a prolific creator of dark poetry. She has had a life-long obsession with crawling into the depths of the psyche and forging shadows into words. Her work parallels this penchant for delving into the fantastical and strolling amongst demons. Follow S. Jade Path on Facebook

 

The Messenger

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by Constantine E. Kiousis

 

“This it?” Jennifer asked as she pointed at the suburban house opposite them in the dimly lit street.

The pale girl standing next to her nodded. Huffing, Jennifer crossed the street, walked up to the front porch, slid a sealed envelope under the door, and knocked before trotting away.

Soon, the girl’s mother would be finding out it was their neighbour that killed her daughter, burying her body in his backyard.

“We good?” Jennifer asked the child.

Smiling, the phantom dissipated into the cold night.

“You’re welcome!” Jennifer exclaimed. “Ghosts and their unfinished business,” she muttered.

Being a medium sucked.

 

Constantine E. Kiousis

Constantine E. Kiousis spends most of his time wandering through the worlds he has created, exploring every nook and cranny and constantly discovering new places and stories that need to be told.

He’s currently plotting new ways to unleash the terrifying tales hiding in his mind upon the world, one word at a time.

Follow Constantine on Facebook

 

Double Betrayal

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by Jaycee Durand

 

Clara trailed her fingertips over the mirror’s chilled glass, her heart tripping at the beckoning reflection.

Identical green eyes—but Debra’s derisive smirk.

Impossible!

We are one. Without me, there is no you. Come.

Always belittling. Always controlling.

But how do you live on when your other half is dead?

Clara sagged before her sister’s stare… and clasped the hand Debra slipped through the rippling mirrored surface as if from the depths of dark waters.

Snatched into frigid, swirling inkiness, Clara whimpered in fright.

Debra threw a vile and triumphant grin to the shadowed presence.

She’s yours, Master. Feast well.

 

Jaycee Durand

Jaycee Durand’s usual dance partner is paranormal romance—who says vampires are out of fashion? Nope. But she enjoys flirting with other genres. Previous publications include shorts on Medium, e.g., The Mad River, and drabbles appearing or forthcoming in Spillwords Press and Free Flash fiction. Jaycee lives in London, England. https://medium.com/the-mad-river/twisted-valentine-84b77ca28fb6

 

Mercy’s Harp

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by Jodie Angell

 

Mercy’s fingers plucked the harp strings, sensing the nearby souls in their final moments before death.

She overlooked the man, unconscious in his armchair.

The room filled with graceful harmony, and the music rose to a crescendo.

A tear rolled from her eyes as a final breath escaped his mouth. A silvery whisp floated from between his lips—his soul now free from the shackles of life.

The music halted, and Mercy reached out her hands to cradle the drifting soul. It disappeared as another spirit called for her.

The room snapped shut, and another materialised. Her songs began again.

 

Jodie Angell

Jodie Angell grew up in South Wales, U.K. She started writing at the age of eleven, entering children’s anthologies. Her first book, Crimson Kiss, is signed with Champagne Book Group.

Jodie explores all genres. She has recently expanded her repertoire and has signed several dark short stories with Black Hare Press. Follow Jodie on Twitter.

 

In the Dark

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by L.J. McLeod

 

Dark. Cold. Her breath comes in shallow gasps. The air tastes stale. A hint of rot tickles at her nose. There is no movement, everything is still. She closes her eyes and opens them again. There is no change in the infinite blackness. Her hands are trapped, her feet bound tight. The feel of walls presses in all around her. With an effort she pulls herself back, away from the vision she has seen in her crystal ball. She looks across the table at the eager, young tourist. He leans forward expectantly.

“So, what do you see in my future?”

 

L.J. McLeod

L.J. McLeod lives in Queensland, Australia. She works in Pathology and writes in her spare time. She has been published in several anthologies and has been nominated twice for the Aurealis Award.  In her spare time she enjoys diving, reading and travelling.

 

The Crimson Room

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by Stephen Johnson

 

My eyes opened to a quiet darkness. Strange, I don’t remember coming into the den. I saw a fiery crimson glow emanating from the open doorway to my living room. I tried to enter but the crimson wall repulsed me back.

Confused, I noticed a body spread across the floor. Blood was sprayed across the back wall and pooled under the lifeless head. My eyes locked with the woman standing over the dead man. Terror filled her face, and she dropped the knife, looking down nervously at the body on the floor.

 “No, it can’t be. I just killed you.”

 

Stephen Johnson

Stephen Johnson is a retired Naval Officer serving 22 years on four different ships over his career. He has published “The Hollow” in Eleanor Merry’s Dark Halloween Holiday Flash Fiction Anthology and “The Other Side of the Mirror” in Scare Street’s Night Terrors Volume 8.

 

Clairvoyance

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by L.T. Ward

 

The candlelight refracted within the glass of Antonia’s crystal ball—all a part of her clairvoyant’s show.
“Does he forgive me?” the man across from her asked.
She stared into the sepia light, her hands waving a practiced dance above. With her bare feet beneath her long skirt, Antonia tugged the hem. The metal balls sewn within clacked twice.
“He forgives you.”
The man sank back into his seat, sighing. As he pulled the money owed from his wallet, she asked, “Why would a good man like you need forgiveness?”
An icy chill whispered into her ear, “For my murder.”

 

L.T. Ward

L.T. writes mostly speculative fiction shorts and novels while spending her days raising her children and satisfying her never-ending thirst for knowledge through reading, meeting people, and first-hand life experiences. She has several published short stories in the literary, historical, fantasy, and speculative fiction genres. She currently volunteers with WriteHive.