Urgent Product Recall

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by Scott O’Neill

Customers who’ve purchased BLÖDSYN obsidian mirrors—discontinue use—immediately! Cover the mirror (perhaps with a FLUFFIGVÄRMA towel, just 479 kroner) and return to your local store for a replacement or refund.

Addressing your reflection in these mirrors (sustainably sourced from Sweden’s Central Skåne Volcanic Province) may unexpectedly summon a Gjenganger (hostile revenant). This unintended product feature has resulted in a precautionary recall of BLÖDSYN mirrors.

If you’ve encountered a Gjenganger, please call our customer service line; press 1 for trauma counselling; 2 for dismemberment support; 3 for funeral services, or stay on the line to access complimentary SPÖKEKÄMPE combat exorcists.

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.

 

 

Carnal Distractions

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by Jeff Currier

Straddling Victor’s chiselled chest, Tiffany languidly tapped the remote. Usually, she toyed with prey longer. Built their amorous anticipation to bursting before sating herself. But Victor’s lustful aura felt bottomless.

The canopy retracted, uncovering myriad angled mirrors. How men loved watching their endless reflections taking her. Their self-absorption let her lock succubus lips and suck them dry.

But Victor had eyes only for her.

Confused, Tiffany glanced upwards. Her countless reflections stared back, bed otherwise empty. I feel him beneath me!

Fangs pierced her neck. A whisper caressed her mind.

“I commend your diet, darling. Your blood tastes absolutely exquisite.”

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories. Find more @jffcurrier on X or Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.

 

 

A Disappearing

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by Salena Casha

At twenty, she shaved her head to see what he might have looked like; her mother had wondered about the same aloud when she thought Marissa couldn’t hear. Her transformation gave him substance, no longer just a ball of hair and fingernails she’d swallowed whole in the womb. Penitential, living for him this way. Mostly, she liked the way her mother’s fingers feathered over her scalp, whispering Martin into her stubble like an incantation.

Each day, he chose new favourite teas and avoided mirrors, burying her deep. After all, he told himself; he wasn’t the one who’d eaten someone alive.

Salena Casha

Salena Casha’s work has appeared in over 100 publications in the last decade. She survives New England winters on good beer and black coffee. Subscribe to her substack at:

Website: salenacasha.substack.com

 

eiD ot emiT

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by Liam Hogan

Timing was everything, the difference between life and a messy death. I huddled by the abandoned car, peering into the shattered wing mirror. The shadow advancing down the darkened alley made me want to flee, but that would have been a fatal mistake. I clutched the shotgun, useless until the phantasm coalesced, taking solid form, ready to strike. Which it wouldn’t do if I stared at it directly.

Almost time…almost—

An inescapable iron grip on my shoulder, cruel fangs at my neck… The the last thing I saw was the mocking warning:

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

Liam Hogan

Liam Hogan is an award-winning short story writer, who dabbles in drabbles.

Website: http://happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

Just a Routine Supply Run

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by Brittni Brinn

Phillipa screamed as the ship spun out of control, the moon filling the cracked viewwindow. Detritus pinged around like rogue meteors. An unsecured crate hurtled towards me—

Phillipa wasn’t screaming anymore. I hung from the back-seat harness like a climber over an abyss. At the bottom was a pile of crates and broken glass. My favourite coffee mug rested on top.

I laughed. Laughing even though I couldn’t get air, laughing to forget the blood, to put off the inevitable drop into broken glass. Laughing at the absurdity of a pristine coffee mug in the midst of so much destruction.

Brittni Brinn

 

Inside the Laughing House

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by Sebastian Swift

The abandoned house on Lincoln Lane had always terrified the town. People swore they could hear it laugh. Sam, however, wasn’t scared. When his friends dared him to enter it, he accepted. Sam navigated the labyrinth of rooms and he became aware of a presence in the dark and decay.

He didn’t feel the urge to scream or run; instead, he felt the need to laugh. A mild chuckle soon grew to uncontrollable roaring laughter. His throat throbbed; his nose bled. Sam drew his pocketknife and decided he would stay here forever. The house added another laugh to its chorus.

Sebastian Swift

Sebastian Swift is a lifelong devotee of the gothic and horrific. He believes that the world of dark and macabre literature is an effective way of coming to terms with the true horrors that lurk beneath the surface of our everyday lives.

Fair Game

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by Bridget Holland

Serafina hates working the Laughing Clowns. They talk inside her head.

A dolled-up blonde, jiggling beside her triumphant boyfriend, points to an oversize teddy bear.

“Clear Clown 3, Serafina,” Papi wheezes, hooking it down.

Her guts clench. How did that idiot get a ball into Clown 3’s tiny, mean mouth?

A cackle echoes in her skull. Come on, carnie girl! Crunchie lunchie…

She inhales, then scoops her forefinger lightning-quick between Clown 3’s lips. Teeth rip her skin. The ball pops out.

Her finger follows. Bone shows between bloodied shreds of flesh.

Clown 3 sniggers.

You got lucky, Serafina. This time…

Bridget Holland

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

Cut to Laughter

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by Don Money

“What’s so funny!” Fedor yelled at the bloody man strapped to the metal table. His first cut had caused the man to begin laughing.

The howl of laughter stopped. “How many have you cut apart?”

Fedor in his depravity had taken apart thirty-six people.

“I dare you to slice my stomach open.” The laughter cackled from the man.

Anger overtook Fedor; with a deft hand he sliced the man’s stomach to end the taunting laugh.

Quiet.

Fedor looked down as three tentacles emerged from the incision and wrapped around him. They began to pull him close as the laughter resumed.

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.

Best Medicine

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by Evan Baughfman

State of the world’s got me in a deep, dark hole, so my doctor’s prescribed me

SMYLOTO®. Helps me find joy in unlikely places. Before this, I hadn’t laughed in months.

Last week, I saw a kid plummet from a park slide, split his skull apart. My giggles drowned out ambulance sirens!

On Monday, some drunk stumbled into traffic, got flattened by a truck. I chuckled—snorted—so violently, my nose bled!

Yesterday, fire obliterated a neighbour’s home. Smoke and snickers brought me to tears!

Tonight, I’m in an alley, knife ready, awaiting passerby.

Eager to make my own happiness.

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.

Wild Laughter in the Throat of Death

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by Scott O’Neill

The Night Guard trudges his morose rounds through the dungeon. “Prisoners, my very soul aches. I’ll free whosoever makes me laugh!”

Sullen silence.

Then, a knock-knock joke croaks through shattered teeth.

“Not funny.”

Puns wheeze from a thumb-screwed thief.

“Not funny.”

Finally, a raunchy jest about lusty widows coaxes chuckles from even the most demoralised prisoners.

The Night Guard laughs, taking out his keys. His mirth builds into howling paroxysms.

He drops dead.

“Too funny?” wheezes the punster.

The raunchy joke’s teller stares at the keys, just out of reach. He cackles brokenly as madness slithers past his shattered hope.

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.