Trading Places

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by Don Money

Darrell Stevens was caught totally unaware as the plastic moulded arms closed around him from behind. Darrell, the lead researcher at Merrill Safety Labs, felt his body lifted in a vise-like grip.

“What the hell!” Darrell exclaimed as he caught sight of his attacker. The anthropomorphic test device carried Darrell towards the accelerator track used to slam test cars into a wall at hundreds of miles per hour.

The crash test mannequin shoved Darrell into the car; a blow to the head stunned him. As the mannequin hit the start button, an electronic voice emitted, “Let’s see how you fare.”

Don Money

Don Money writes stories across a variety of genres. He is a middle school language arts teacher. His stories have appeared in a variety of anthologies and magazines.

 

 

 

 

Predators of the Uncanny Valley

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by Scott O’Neill

We watch and silently seethe, posed elegantly in window displays. Our immobility and blank silver features camouflage us as mere mannequins.

You slouch past in foam clogs and elastic-waisted sweatpants, gobbling your shopping mall cinnamon buns. Your skin crawls. You tell yourself it’s the uncanny valley effect: seeing our stillness and near-human appearance stokes your subconscious fear of death.

But you’re wrong.

It’s the pulsating echo of our hunger, demanding we hinge open our jaws and rend your soft flesh with endless rows of needle-sharp chromium teeth. Consuming the consumers.

But you’ve not yet ripened.

So, we wait.

For now.      

Scott O’Neill

Scott writes reports and memorandums by day and speculative fiction by night, with short works published by various presses. You can find him on the socials as @wererooster.

 

 

 

 

Bridezilla

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by Tracy Davidson

The bridal boutique mannequin missed her white dress. She had finally felt beautiful, full of fancy frills and flounces. It looked better on her than that frumpy human, whose frame tested the seams. Bad enough the humiliation of being publicly stripped. But then to be knocked over by grasping arms, left scratched and broken, unceremoniously dumped in the storeroom…

The mannequin crawled into the private changing room, where the woman still admired herself. Plastic hands cut off the scream. Dressmaker shears cut off other things.

The mannequin got her dress back, no longer white. She loved the added scarlet swirls.     

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, Black Hare Press, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, and In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

 

 

 

 

Holiday Closeout

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by Jonathan Tolstedt

They’d always liked Imogen’s displays in women’s fashion. They’d especially liked her tasteful Black Friday arrangement of plus-sized women’s clothing. So she was shocked when her boss, Marcy, told her they were eliminating the visual display artist position. She’d been upset, of course, but, being a professional, she’d committed to creating one final display. Imogen stood back now, admiring the family of mannequins gathered around a Christmas tree. She noticed the mother’s arm was at an awkward angle. She stepped into the display, grasped Marcy’s cold, stiff arm, and twisted it until she heard a crack.

“That’s better,” she said.      

Jonathan Tolstedt

Jonathan Tolstedt is a patent agent by day and an evolving writer by nights and weekends. He has previously published a short horror story (2018) and recently had his 100-word story “The Savage Jungle” accepted for publication for Black Hare Press’ Dark Moments: Jungle Terrors call (2024).

 

 

 

 

Kammi

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by Streeper Clyne

Kammi dragged her torso across the marble-tiled floor towards her legs in the pantyhose aisle as a distant clock struck six a.m. Her plastic arms, articulating at the shoulders, clacked out the methodical rhythm of her agonising journey. Tonight, she’d end the relentless pain, the ghosts of missing limbs she’d suffered since those clerks dismembered her, callously distributing parts to various displays throughout Havers Department Store.

With her legs reattached, she stood. “They need to understand.” Twisting her hips in a spasming gait, she lurched past a row of bespectacled, faceless heads towards the housewares department where gleaming cleavers awaited.       

Streeper Clyne

Streeper Clyne lives in North Carolina, USA, and writes poetry, microfiction, and short stories. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in print and online in The Wake Forest Review, Vine Leave Press 50 Give or Take, The 50 Word Stories of 2023 (Anthology), and DarkWinter Literary Magazine.

 

 

 

 

Artistic Freedom

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by Suzanne Link

My wooden limbs twist around articulated joints.

Runner: sprinting

                Archer: aiming

                                Ballerina: pirouetting

The artist explores eloquent athletic poses. Sketch after sketch. I am proud to serve as his muse.

Until his tone shifts.

Juvenile: dabbing

                Pervert: self-pleasuring

                                Nazi: goose-stepping

He cackles as his artistic loftiness yields to disgusting whims. Humiliation surges through me. Yet, I am his prisoner. Unable to resist.

Until he sleeps and I escape my display stand.

Prowler: sneaking

                Stalker: climbing

                                Avenger: mounting

My knobbed hands slide into his nostrils. His eyes fly open.

Arms: thrust

                Bone: crack

                                Brain: punctured

Now, I am my own muse.

Suzanne Link

 

 

 

 

 

Preyed Upon

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by Evan Baughfman

Days ago, the alien Hunter sent a distress call to his homeworld, but his plea remains unanswered. Crash landing in this terrain—a harrowing ordeal.

The Amazon’s endless heat and humidity overwhelm the Hunter’s vision, his thermal imaging. Panicking through an unwelcoming environment, he stumbles across cold-blooded foes. Vipers. Anacondas. Caimans.

Retreating from aquatic reptiles leads to painful encounters with piranhas and a bull shark.

The alien’s invisibility tech can’t hide him from mosquitoes. They’re addicted to his neon-green ichor.

Feverish, woozy, the Hunter sobs. Prays.

Faints.

Plummets from a tree branch perch, again crashing to earth.

Stupid, inhospitable Earth…

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.

 

 

 

 

Observations Made While Paralysed By A Bite From An Amazon Coral Snake

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by Jaime Gill

You could scream again.

Your lungs are still moving, after all. Just. But there are no humans nearby, only beasts.

You’d scream anyway, if your limbs still worked and you could run or fight. But only your lungs and heart are moving now.

Your pinned eyes watch nature’s cruel, ceaseless carnival. A python swallows a still-twitching iguana. Swarming ants besiege a writhing centipede.

The photography that won you fame depicted jungles as paradise, but this is a savage hell. Everything doomed to be eaten—dead or alive.

You hope your heart stops before you know which fate is yours.

Jaime Gill

Jaime Gill is a British-born writer living in Cambodia, whose stories have been published by Litro, Tulsa Review, Pinky Thinker, In Parentheses, Beyond Words, voidspace, Write Launch and others. Several stories have been finalists for awards including Masters Review Annual Award, Bridport Prize, Rigel Award, and Plaza Prize.

X: @jaimegill

 

 

 

In Search of Monsters

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by Kristin Lennox

No one believed it existed.

After three seasons of “Cryptid Quest,” we could stretch strange noises and unexplained heat signatures into hour-long episodes; no actual creature required.

But that stench—not even my producer could have faked it. Then the howl that echoed through the Amazonian canopy…

The upside? I have Pulitzer-prize-winning footage, proof of the mythical Mapinguari: I kept filming as the one-eyed beast massacred the camp, disembowelling the crew with its sloth-like claws.

True, I’m bleeding out, but the camera’s still running—the creature just gave the lens a curious lick with the gaping mouth in its belly…

Kristin Lennox

 

 

 

 

Cabin Fever

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by Bridget Holland

Leanna hunkers in the torn-off tail of the plane, watching the afternoon downpour fill her plastic containers. She peels foil from one of the remaining meals. Larvae move.

So hungry.

“Protein.”

She forces herself to swallow.

Raindrops pound the fuselage. Vines with blood-red flowers twine over the jungle floor, over bumps which were once passengers, over the jagged rim of her sanctuary. She hacks them off every day, then huddles damp with fear-sweat while night rustles in the trees.

Overnight, the vines grow back—closer—their flowers red and hungry mouths.

“Leave me alone!” Leanna whimpers.

Her voice cracks.

“Alone…”

Bridget Holland

Bridget’s a reader, dreamer and writer living in Australia and in her imagination.