Tag Archive for: dark moments

Falling on Deaf Ears

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by Laurence Croft

Tom used to play a cruel joke on me: he would put his hand in front of his mouth, preventing me from lipreading, then say stuff that made his mates laugh. I’ll never know what he said, but their mockery made me so miserable that I ended up on sertraline.

So, one evening, I got my own back. I spiked Tom’s drink, then tied him to a chair in the basement.

“What’s the difference,” I said, when he came to, “between Tom and tears?”

I cackled gleefully, relishing my own wit. Then I brandished the knife.

“Tom has no ears.”

Laurence Croft

Laurence Croft is a writer from London who now lives in Heidelberg, Germany, where he works as a tour guide. His fiction has appeared in the Dark Lane Anthology, Creepy Podcast, The Satirist, and Sci-Fi Shorts.

 

 

Cracker Jokes

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by Corinne Pollard

Cracker jokes aren’t funny. Yet when it flutters out from my paper hat, I feel obliged to read it out loud.

“What do you call an elderly snowman?” I pause. “A puddle.”

Most groan, some roll their eyes, but Aunt Iris, who’d been at the sherry, laughs.

I smile at her silliness, watching as her cheeks grow redder, until…BANG!

She vanishes, and my vision darkens. I wipe her blood off my face and realise the table is swimming in it.

I spot her eyeball floating in the gravy boat and her ear in my champagne glass.

Cracker jokes aren’t funny.

Corinne Pollard

Corinne is a UK disabled horror writer who loves to dabble with drabbles. Follow her online: @CorinnePWriter

Getting the Last Laugh

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by Jeff Currier

For Max, it began as a low rumbling chuckle. For Helen, a delicate tittering giggle. Inevitably though, it slowly swelled, gleeful chortling burgeoning into gut-clenching rambunctious hilarity.

Like all laughter, it was contagious. It spread unchecked, a convulsing wave of mirth, drowning the entire world in uproarious pandemonium.

They tried regaining control. But through their rising trepidation, their desperate howling tears, the unbridled raucous cachinnation only grew. Mutated. Into hysterical cackling terror.

Abruptly Max collapsed, a broken empty harlequin, his prefrontal cortex cerebral tissue all consumed. Helen, and everyone else, soon followed. The brain parasites had finally gorged themselves silly.

Jeff Currier

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

 

CAPTCHA’D

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by Liam Hogan

“Select squares with TRAFFIC LIGHTS.”

My fist slammed down. I muttered a sorry and the internet cafe owner retook his stool. But bloody hell! This was my third CAPTCHA. All I wanted was a cheap flight, and the damned system kept kicking me back to the beginning like it was trying to keep me here.

I entered the stolen credit card details again and watched the icon spin.

A picture of a field appeared, dividing into a grid.

“Select squares where there are BODIES BURIED.”

“Yes!” I crowed, knowing I’d got this one right.

Flashing blue lights rewarded me.

“No…”

Liam Hogan

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

Website: happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

 

Needs Breakfast

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by Evan Baughfman

Andy hasn’t eaten. Never a good idea. Empty belly means “hanger” consumes the best of him.

In the company parking garage, Andy finds a freshly installed vending machine. He inserts a few coins. Pushes buttons.

The machine whirs. Doesn’t drop the desired pastry.

Cursing, Andy kicks, dents the machine. Shoulder-checks the contraption. Wallops its glass front, spiderwebbing cracks.

Something growls.

Not Andy’s stomach. The machine.

Its delivery slot opens. A tongue snakes through, gripping Andy’s ankles, pulling him in—folding him, crunching him. Every last bite.

Soon, the machine offers a new treat.

A scarlet confection, simply labelled, “Sour Candy.”

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.

 

A Matter of Cleanliness

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by Andreas Flögel

When Peter called for the waiter, the anger in his voice was indisputable. He held a fork at the lower end, pointing it at the staff member.

“I know this is no five-star establishment. Nevertheless, this is simply unacceptable. The cutlery is dirty.”

The waiter leaned in to inspect the fork.

“I apologise, sir. I cannot detect any contamination, but I would be happy to replace it for you.”

Peter thrust the fork into the waiter’s eye.

“Surely you’ll agree that, of course, cleanliness is key. In your case, a dirty fork poses an additional risk of a nasty infection.”

Andreas Flögel

Andreas Flögel keeps his calm, always. You hear me? ALWAYS!!!!

Website: dr-dings.de

Flushed Frustration

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by Jennifer Jorgensen

Water sprayed the front of Alycia’s shirt as she pushed the plunger over and over, faster and faster. She was sick of her husband’s video game addiction. Her interruptions were annoying? She showed him what annoyance was. She hit the flusher. The bowl gurgled in defeat.

Despite everything, she did need a working toilet. Time to call jammedjohns.com.

***

An attractive plumber—no beltless Levis for this guy—arrived and pulled a small, shiny object, and a game controller wrapped in a sodden, bloody T-shirt from the drainpipe.

“Missing this ring?”

“No.” she smiled. Good thing she flushed the fingers first.

Jennifer Jorgensen

Jennifer Jorgensen has won awards for the annual Capital Crime Writer’s Audrey Jessop contest, short-story crime fiction, in Ottawa, Canada, where she currently resides with her husband and two children. She has been published in the online magazine, Daily Science Fiction and is currently at work on her first novel.

 

You All Sound the Same

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by Scott O’Neill

Buzzing fluorescent tubes fitfully illuminated the dank, cluttered hostel basement.

“The washer’s munted.”

Whirling and dropping laundry, the American girl gawped at Noah. “Jeez! You scared me! That accent… Australia?”

Leaning against a red-spattered freezer, Noah grimaced. “New Zealand.”

Her brow furrowed. “Not Australia?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Our exchange student had an Australian accent like yours.”

Noah opened the freezer.

“Getting shrimp for the barbie?” she asked, giggling.

He yanked out a bloodied screwdriver, scattering an arc of frozen peas. Surging forward, he plunged it into her heart and snarled, “New Zealand.”

Noah put her in the freezer, beside the Canadian.

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.

 

Not Very Neighbourly

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by Madeline Mora-Summonte

The music, always so loud.

Edna asks, begs, demands.

The neighbours next door stare blankly, deny, close the door in her face.

Fury scorches her. Then, the icy focus finds her. Happens every time.

That night, Edna pads across the back lawn, hatchet in hand.

She slashes, silences the stereo, radio, phone. From her feet, a wet shuddery breath rises, falls, stills.

She waits for peace, quiet.

But something is wrong.

She still hears the music.

She cocks her head. She has the wrong house. Again.

Sanity scraped raw, hatchet bloodied, Edna crosses the street.

The music, always so loud.

Madeline Mora-Summonte

Madeline Mora-Summonte is a writer, a reader, a beachcomber and a tortoise owner. Many of her creepy little tales are out prowling in print and lurking online. Visit her website for a taste of her work. Just be careful something doesn’t taste you back.

Website: MadelineMora-Summonte.com

 

Cornered Cake Cutter

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by Lauren Dennis

Putting my fist through Valerie’s shit-eating grin is akin to feeding it into the office industrial shredder. Her teeth slice my skin, sending shards of enamel and flesh plopping into Susan’s coffee. The blood and icing-coated knife in Valerie’s shaking hand narrowly misses my cheek, allowing me to slam her skull against the cement wall.

I permit Valerie to see herself once more by pointing her gouged out eyes towards her pummelled corpse. The office gawks. Susan pours another coffee.

I ignored Valerie’s self-righteous entitlement for the last time.

It was my promotion cake…

And I called the corner piece!

Lauren Dennis

Lauren Dennis is a writer from Johns Island, South Carolina. She writes about ghosts, gags, and boo-hags. She has been published in Roi Fainéant Press and Fairfield Scribes. You can follow her writing and adventures on Instagram.

Instagram: @LaurenWritesLoud