Tag Archive for: dark moments

Insatiable

/by

by Don Money

The book cover made of tree bark grabbed Elroy’s attention, but what intrigued him more was the title, Dark Magic of Appalachia. The horror the spells inside promised gave rise to a dark idea.

A gluttony incantation and the moonshine from Elroy’s still became something people couldn’t live without. The desire consumed every person who fell under the spell of the moonshine. The money poured in as the desire grew, the demand more than Elroy could satisfy.

Craving the needed drink, the crowd descended on the still. Elroy’s pleas for more time went unanswered as the horde tore him apart.

 

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.

Immortal Investment

/by

by Chris Clemens

“Last chance. Are we completely sure he’d want this?”

“His will is clear: immediate resurrection. Mr Kocher spent a fortune on this nekronomi-whatever book. Careful, the cover’s falling apart.”

“It’s just… LOOK at him.”

“I won’t. It’s gross. Now start chanting!”

Hissing forbidden syllables, the assistants shuffled around concentric pentagrams they’d etched on the runway tarmac. Dark energy sizzled through the private jet, converging beneath the dripping turbofan engine where the regrettable fatality had occurred.

Deep within the crimson pile of shredded slurry that had once been billionaire Reginald Kocher, a wet orifice resembling a mouth began to scream.

 

Chris Clemens

Chris Clemens lives in Toronto, surrounded by raccoons. His stories have appeared in Invisible City Lit, Apex Magazine, and elsewhere.

Eternal Flame

/by

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

Bargained the Light

/by

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 

The Crimson Tome

/by

by Kai Delmas

I scoured the oldest libraries and their secret texts. I uncovered clues that were lost or thought destroyed.

Hidden away behind a sealed brick wall, the tome was clasped in a skeleton’s hands upon an altar.

Now it’s finally mine.

I leaf through the pages to find them… empty. Nothing. Nothing at all.

My grip tightens against my will. Pain courses through me. The pages fill with words and symbols. Red, crimson ink spreads through the book on every page.

The power of the tome has been set free, and my blood was the price to pay. Every last drop.

 

Kai Delmas

Kai Delmas loves creating worlds and magic systems. His fiction can be found in Zooscape, Martian, Crepuscular, and several Shacklebound anthologies. His debut drabble collection, Darkness Rises, Hope Remains, was published by Shacklebound Books. You can support him at: patreon.com/kaidelmas and find him on on Twitter and on Bluesky @kaidelmas.bsky.social

Twitter: @KaiDelmas

The Student

/by

by Christina Persaud

This damned dissertation.

Loose leaf papers threaten to take flight. Books stacked upon books, most if not all on the occult. My bleary eyes strain to read one in particular: The Sworn Book of Honorius. It’s old. Language too ancient to ask for help. So, I read aloud, sounding out syllables, hearing myself.

“Angeli domini vos excitent qui vos venire constringant…”

My feet stagger, making a mess of chalk symbols on my wooden floor, summoning angels, maybe demons. The room tilts dangerously, and I shake.

All in the name of research.

From the shadows, something moves, and black wings spread.

 

Christina Persaud

Christina Persaud is a Horror Writers Association member and Ladies of Horror Fiction Grant winner. Having parents who immigrated from Guyana, she grew up enjoying Caribbean stories, especially folklore. Today, she resides in Florida with her husband and a ferociously sweet yorkie named Kaiju. Find her at:

Website: www.ChristinaPersaud.com

Ophelia’s Damnation

/by

by Freya King

Ophelia stared at Grimgran’s sunken cheeks in the casket. The townspeople, who’d called Grimgran a witch and shunned her, attended like vultures.

Ophelia raged.

     “Ophio-cordyceps

     Ants in their pants

     Punish everyone here

     To their graves, make’em dance”

To her delight, this time it worked.

Fire ants marched up legs and toes began tapping. Mrs Moore did the Charleston. Mean old Mr Percival did the macarena and Mr Clopp, from the village shop, did the bop. Ophelia giggled.

Even as blood dripped and ants gnawed bone, the enchanted townsfolk boogied.

Ophelia flicked an ant away. More came.

She did say everyone.

 

Freya King

Freya King is a creative writer who is most at home exploring the dark and twisted nature of humans. She has won various awards for her short stories.

Hard Bound

/by

by Kristin Lennox

Amelia discovered the book in the thrift store behind a stack of Reader’s Digests. She was a sucker for old tomes, and this one checked all the boxes. The pages crackled like delicate insect wings, revealing handwritten passages in some long-dead language with oddly sensual illustrations.

Tucked into her wingback with a cup of chamomile, Amelia carefully turned the pages. Stopping on an intriguing image of a beefy lad with reddish skin and horns, she slowly sounded out the caption beneath.

And until the demon cleared his throat, she never noticed the fiery portal to hell churning in her credenza.

 

Kristen Lennox

Kristin is delighted to have had several drabbles published by Black Hare Press. She’s also a voice actor, and when she’s not talking to herself in her padded room (home studio), she tries to get the voices out of her head and onto the page.

America’s Got Witchcraft

/by

by Tracy Davidson

I said my spells would blow their minds. But hadn’t expected results to be so literal.

There are typos in my grimoire. That damn cat exaggerated his keyboard skills. Blood and brain matter cover the stage. The judges’ headless torsos slump over their desks.

The stunned audience stares as I back away from my cauldron, wishing my broomstick wasn’t in the dressing room.

The host comes out, smiling. “Excellent!” he cries. “Ratings have just gone through the roof!”

The audience starts clapping and cheering, even the blood-splattered ones in the front row.

Perhaps I won’t skin the cat after all.

 

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, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, and In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

The Witch’s Trees

/by

by Kathryn Reilly

To silence her coming screams, the priest shoved an apple into the witch’s mouth. As the kindling caught, she chewed, seeking the seeds. Consumed, she whispered a curse to kill God’s lying faithful.

In spring, seven apple seedlings rose seeking vengeance.

Lured by delicious golden, red, and pink apples, everyone believed this grove God’s gift, forgetting its geography.

But the eaten seeds sought soil, twisting toes into roots and screaming mouths into rough knots. Arms’ viscera split into branches and bloody veins pulsed until pink-tinged flowers blossomed.

The beautiful orchard thrives, adding tortuous trees whenever the faithful eat its apples.

 

Kathryn Reilly

Kathryn’s speculative tales resurrect goddesses and ghosts; her rescue mutts hear the stories first.

Twitter: @Katecanwrite