Expedition to Crete

/by

by Kelly Matsuura

The tremors worsen. The stone walls collapse under pressure, trapping us in a vast, labyrinthine crypt, deep under Minoan ruins.

Well, not all of us…

I draw my knife as wraithlike maidens encircle the group, hungry to receive the promised sacrifice.

“What did you do, Renée?” Tomás screams repeatedly.

I kneel and begin praying for the Goddess to accept me.

Tomás is still cussing as the men are all overpowered, their blood greedily consumed.

 Imminently, the High Priestess appears before me. My whole body trembles, surrendering.

She holds her goblet out. Cutting my hand, I humbly gift my own blood.

Kelly Matsuura

Kelly Matsuura is an avid short story writer, with a focus on fantasy, horror, and literary fiction.

She has stories and poetry published with Black Hare Press, The Sirens Call Ezine, Dragons Soul Press, Stringybark Stories, and many more.

Kelly lives in Nagoya, Japan with her geeky husband.

Website: blackwingsandwhitepaper.wordpress.com

 

 

Evolution

/by

by Petina Strohmer

The atmosphere is thick and foul, and the rivers run an oily black.

The planet’s squealing inhabitants are packed so tightly together, the barren ground beneath their feet is barely visible. They fight among themselves constantly, kicking and screaming, in desperate competition for space, air, everything. The weak, the sick and the old are trampled in this psychotic stampede. No-one cares. It’s every beast for itself.

In orbiting spaceships, the aliens are amazed.

“I always thought Earthlings were an evolved species!”

“Sadly, that seems no longer so. There’s no point in making contact now. All semblance of civilisation is lost.”

Petina Strohmer

Petina Strohmer is a traditionally published novelist who has also had twenty-six (mainly horror) short stories published in different anthologies. She lives in the magical Welsh mountains with a raggle-taggle assortment of rescued animals. For more information, go to her website:

Website: petinastrohmer.com

 

Forewarnings

/by

by Sam Snyder

The radios went out forty minutes ago. We’re too far underground—the water dripping from the ceiling is frigid—but none of us wanted to leave after seeing the first of the carvings, so here we are. The writing’s like nothing the linguist’s ever seen, apparently. Personally, I think they look like they’re from a half-assed sci-fi drama.

The artwork’s different, though. Familiar. Fires burning across crudely built cities, people ripping each other apart. Cages of creatures barely recognisable as living. The overwhelming terror of the carnage is what comes across clearest in the carvings.

It’s almost like they knew.

Sam Snyder

Sam Snyder is currently pursuing a degree in English Literature at some small liberal arts university or another. When they aren’t in class or at work, they can be found typing up creative nonsense in their local library or watching early 2000’s TV in bed with their cat.

 

An Excavation

/by

by Cailín Frankland

They took our relics first: pots and tools, playthings and jewellery. This we tolerated, chuckling at their blustering talk of papers, conferences, museum displays. We bore their ambition, indulged their curiosity—even in death, we are a generous people.

Then they stole our bones. They extracted ribs with dental picks, boxed up our vertebrae—we felt brushes graze our clavicles, trowels scratch our shoulder blades. When they took our limbs, we warned them—we shook the earth beneath them, snuffed their precious flashlights. They came for our skulls anyway.

In life, the diggers pitied us. Now we are the same.

Cailín Frankland

Cailín Frankland (she/they) is a British-American writer and public health professional based in Baltimore, Maryland. An avid reader and horror aficionado, their work explores themes related to feminism, queerness, disability, chronic illness, neurodivergence, and intergenerational trauma. They live with their spouse, two old lady cats, and a 70-pound pit bull affectionately known as Baby.

 

The Doctor Will Be With You Shortly

/by

by Weird Wilkins

The gas has done its job. You lie there barely awake, the pain in your teeth has numbed, from agony to a dull ache.

You lie there on the chair, dreading what comes next, your drooling mouth held agape by metal and perspex.

It’s then that you spot it, hardly a spec to your blurred eyes, something dark on the ceiling, something that likes to eat flies.

You try to jerk away, to close your mouth and run, but the gas has done its job so well, you can barely twitch your thumb.

And on a thread… Here it comes…

Weird Wilkins

Hailing from the deepest, darkest pits of England, Weird Wilkins is a fresh-faced writer and lifelong horror fanatic. He writes firmly in the “weird fiction” sub-genre and has a particular passion for folklore, the supernatural and healthy lashings of body horror.

Facebook: @weirdwilkins

The Surgeon

/by

by Tracy Davidson

For someone who spends so much time wielding scalpels, a sudden attack of haemophobia is somewhat inconvenient.

My therapist shares my fear. She talks me through her coping mechanisms. She’s good. I feel the panic and anxiety leaving my body. Hands stop trembling at the merest thought of scarlet oozing over my gloves. She’s really good. I’m me again.

Alas, for her, she proves too good a listener. She now knows I’m a serial killer—not surgeon. My fear has gone. But hers returns.

I show mercy by blindfolding her. Oops! Seems she’s afraid of the dark, too. Oh well.

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.

The Same As You

/by

by Tim Law

I watched on, helpless, as you faded away. All of those crosswords, logic puzzles, the way you challenged and stretched your mind. Nothing seemed to help, nothing stopped or even stalled your decline. You were the smartest and most caring person I know. In the end, you became nothing more than a blubbering mess.

I thought your love for mathematics would save you, hoped intelligence would win the day.

Now I push myself to write, to draw, to stretch my mind in new directions. Every idea, each new thought, I try outrunning the fear your fate will, too, be mine.

Tim Law

 

Hydro-Phobia

/by

by Anastasia Jill

Hydro—

Foam, like venom bile. Jaws, square and concrete, hit the floor. Throat open, wide open

and dry as a desert. Shaking, shaking, shaking—Please! I’m so scared.

My mouth is so large, but my throat is so small.

Water, water? WATER! NO! Get away from me—

—phobia

Brain? It is so heavy; it is sick; it is not mine. It’s in the bats

and racoons and foxes and coyotes that ravaged me.

Blood, it is rabid, scratching its way out of my failing skin.

I’m scared and dying. Please, tear my red lane open. Please.

I just need a drop

to drink—

Anastasia Jill

Anastasia Jill (they/them) is a queer writer living in Central Florida. They have been nominated for Best American Short Stories, The Pushcart Prize, and several other honours. Their work has been featured or is upcoming with Poets.org, Sundog Lit, Flash Fiction Online, Contemporary Verse 2, Broken Pencil, and more.

Hellekin

/by

by P.S. Traum

Pasty white corpse makeup, a cackling laugh… A clown at a party is funny, but when you encounter that same clown in a dark alley at night, waiting for you with an unholy grin? Jesters, clowns, all actually very disturbing. You don’t know who is really hiding under that garish wig, lurking in that carnival the children are wandering into. Lunatics, killers, perverts…and worse.

I stare into the mirror and no longer know who or what I am. My frozen smile brings me no joy. I can’t remember whose blood I’m covered in, but I can still hear their screams…

P.S. Traum

P.S. Traum is an author with a range of styles who has had short stories published in several recent small press genre publications. Traum eschews publicity in the hopes the storylines and characters get all the attention without preconceived perceptions of external context.

Feeling Sleepy

/by

by Liam Kerry

Relax.

Close your eyes.

Breathe slowly. In. And out. In. And out. That’s it.

Focus on the arm that I am holding up.

When I release it, you will fall into a deep sleep.

That’s it.

So, let’s tackle this phobia. When you wake up, darkness will no longer frighten you. You will take control, searching for a sharp object to slash the nearest person with. Over and over. Until they stop moving. You will forget everything upon encountering daylight.

Now. When I count down from 5, you’ll slowly re-enter the room.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1.

Welcome back, Jason.

Liam Kerry