March 2024 - Page 2 of 2 - Black Hare Press

by Ria Hill

The patch of stone he kneels on is as bare as it is holy. He has done the unthinkable and sought immortality. That achieved, he waits in chains before the only few who could revoke that gift.

His final sentence is a shock that stiffens his spine.

“Keep your eternity,” the priestess says. “Be our guiding light.”

The flames roll over his flesh, consuming him with a hunger that will never be satisfied.

Prayers tear his throat to shreds only briefly before it stitches itself whole to scream again. His ever-mending body is a fuel that will never be exhausted.

Ria Hill

Ria Hill is a writer, librarian, and nonbinary horror. Chances of them devouring you on sight are very low, but never zero. They can be found online at riahill.weebly.com and on various social media platforms @riawritten.

Website: riahill.weebly.com

by Akis Linardos

Ethereal chains binding you to your wife rattle as you trudge onto the porch. To the cold indifferent desert night. Heads of men that once voted you bounce across the barren road, ensnared in tumbleweeds.

Crackling paper pleasure, you roll another cancer-stick—a brief respite from the mental anguish of your sins.

Hopefully hell claims you sooner. You offered your town to the devil, to revive a wife that never wanted a husband but a fat-wallet mayor.

Her reanimated corpse shrills beside you, and you cry because you know: Once you used the grimoire’s spell, sunlight would never shine again.

Akis Linardos

Akis is a writer of bizarre things, a biomedical AI scientist, and almost human. He’s also a Greek that hops across countries as his career and exploration urges demand. Find his fiction at Apex, Dread Machine, Apparition Lit, and visit his website for other dark surprises.

Website: linktr.ee/akislinardos

Eternal Flame

The patch of stone he kneels on is as bare as it is holy. He has done the unthinkable and sought immortality. That achieved, he waits in chains before the only few who could revoke that gift.

His final sentence is a shock that stiffens his spine.

“Keep your eternity,” the priestess says. “Be our guiding light.”

The flames roll over his flesh, consuming him with a hunger that will never be satisfied.

Prayers tear his throat to shreds only briefly before it stitches itself whole to scream again. His ever-mending body is a fuel that will never be exhausted.

Bargained the Light

Ethereal chains binding you to your wife rattle as you trudge onto the porch. To the cold indifferent desert night. Heads of men that once voted you bounce across the barren road, ensnared in tumbleweeds.

Crackling paper pleasure, you roll another cancer-stick—a brief respite from the mental anguish of your sins.

Hopefully hell claims you sooner. You offered your town to the devil, to revive a wife that never wanted a husband but a fat-wallet mayor.

Her reanimated corpse shrills beside you, and you cry because you know: Once you used the grimoire’s spell, sunlight would never shine again.