Tag Archive for: dark moments

The Cursed Cave

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by James Rumpel

 

“I have a good feeling,” said Dr Morris. “The landslide exposed most of the cliff wall. I’m certain the Shaman’s cave has been opened.”

“Do we want to find it?” asked his assistant, Richard.

“You don’t believe those stories…”

Morris stopped, smiled, and pointed to a crevice in the mountainside.

Inside, they found drawings, and Navajo words etched into the wall.

“Those are the Shaman’s victims,” explained Morris.

Richard didn’t reply. The doctor looked back to find himself alone.

He shrugged and turned back toward the writing and froze. Two names had been added to the list.

James Rumpel

James Rumpel is a retired math teacher who enjoys spending some of his free time trying to turn some of the odd ideas in his brain into stories. 

 

 

By the Light of the Fire

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by C. L. Sidell

 

We summoned the thing without knowing what we’d done.

A simple campfire—roasting marshmallows for nostalgia’s sake.

“Grab the sticks,” you said.

I did.

They burned, smoked green.

The earth rumbled, shook without moving.

The thing rose behind you—a menacing, monolithic shadow amongst forest shadows. Its innumerable yellow eyes fixed on me, its rusted voice impregnated my thoughts with inarticulate words. Root-like appendages rose into the air as if in depraved prayer, and my own hands mimicked its movements.

Know I had no choice, its putrid need filling my throat as I thrust the hunting knife into your heart.

C. L. Sidell

A native Floridian, C. L. Sidell grew up playing with toads in the rain and indulging in horror stories. She holds a Master of Arts in both English and library & information science, moderates two creative writing groups, and reviews books for the Florida Library Youth Program. Her work has appeared (or is forthcoming) in 34 Orchard, 805 Lit, Dark Moments, The Dread Machine, Frozen Wavelets, opia, Quarantine Quanta, Spark: A Creative Anthology, and others.

Twitter & Facebook: @sidellwrites

 

 

Drip

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by Shaun Bibo

 

Drip… Drip

The dripping would drive another person mad.

Drip… Drip

Not me. I’ve been here for three days. Hanging.

Drip… Drip

It came from the painting. The ocean. The waves. A lighthouse. Peace.

Drip… Drip

It emerged from the water. Slowly. Over days. Weeks. It consumed the lighthouse.

Drip… Drip

More tentacles than body. It broke free.

Drip… Drip

I can’t see it. Not really. It moves… sporadically. Through time. Through space.

Drip… Drip

It doesn’t belong here. It’s always hungry. Soon, the bucket below me will be full. I will be empty.

Drip… Drip

Then it will eat.

Shaun Bibo

Business Analyst by day, writer by night, weekend, lunch breaks, or whenever time allows. Father of two, so less time than ever, but in the best possible way. Surviving the cold Minnesota winters to embrace the magnificent summers.

 

 

Tunnel Vision

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by R. Wayne Gray

 

Strobing lights blinked red to green on the Arctic SuperDeep Tunnel: incoming. The gathered scientists cheered in relief. The train had set a record two days earlier—15 miles deep—when communications with it had suddenly ceased.

“Just a glitch!” cried one, as champagne popped. Cold air crept from the tunnel at the train’s approach, a rotted breeze that chilled the celebration. Blue flashes flickered, electrical surges that blew out fluorescents and other equipment. The train breached the tunnel, a jagged birth painted with gristle, greased with sparks. And behind it, a pulsing mass of tentacles and bone and screams.

R. Wayne Gray

R. Wayne Gray is a Vermont-based writer who has published in a wide range of genres and formats. His short fiction has recently appeared in Cosmic Horror Monthly, Trembling With Fear, and the anthologies 666 Dark Drabbles and Bloody Good Horror.

Website: www.rwaynegray.com

 

 

Alterations

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by Maxwell Marais

 

I think the most shocking thing about the change was that it wasn’t painful. Strange, certainly. A shift in perspective. Not painful. No, what I felt was something more like wonder—like an ant crawling across a circuit board, briefly comprehending all of computer history. For a few seconds, I knew everything. Maybe that’s why it was no longer painful to shuck away skin and bone, to feel the gradual peeling away of what I had been.

I think someone screamed, while I still had ears. But that meant little.

Like the ant on the circuit board, they would learn.

Maxwell Marais

Maxwell Marais is an author and illustrator living in Montreal, Canada. When they aren’t frantically scrawling down the weird fiction and horror that crawls out of their brain, they can be found attempting to summon (with limited success) horrible abominations from beyond our world.

 

 

Nightmare

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by Vijayaraj Mahendraraj

 

“A recurring nightmare,” said Billa, trembling.

“It’s perfectly reasonable to experience fear and panic,” consoled the therapist.

“Even awake, something feels latched onto my back. Draining me. I’ve got pale, sickly. I’m losing my mind. Help me!” he blurted, flustered.

“Now, now. Remember what we said about getting worked up,” replied the therapist, nearing.

“Check my back! Please!”

Billa removed his shirt and turned.

“Ah, yes. Not to worry. It’s growing quite well.”

“What?” he stammered, before feeling the pinch of the sedating syringe.

Consciousness slipping, he heard dark whispers and glimpsed bulbous, black tentacles reaching out from behind him.

Vijayaraj Mahendraraj

My name is Vijayaraj Mahendraraj, originally from Malaysia but currently work as a physician in Canada. I was accepted for publication in the Year Four and Grimdark anthologies later this year with Black Hare Press.

 

 

Dinnertime

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by Victor Nandi

 

The stray stared at the caretaker’s meal, its tail wagging.

The old man stroked the animal’s neck. Tossing it a crumb from his modest sandwich, he strolled into the cemetery and plonked himself on the grass. The dog followed him.

Slowly, shrivelled corpses started digging their way up and crawling to the surface.

The caretaker lay on his back, resting his feet over a tombstone. The dead didn’t want respect.

The woofing soon changed to screeches of agony that drowned under crackling of bones, shredding of flesh and leisurely chomping of organs.

The caretaker grinned and focussed on his sandwich.

Victor Nandi

Victor Nandi is an Assistant Director – Content with an Ed-tech company. In addition to various international magazines and journals, his works of horror, fantasy and sci-fi have featured in anthologies from several publication houses around the world. He lives in Bangalore, India.

 

 

The Doom of Man

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by Kimberly Rei

 

The ancestors knew.

They paid homage to moons, full or new. They left yearling calves and walked away, chins high as the beasts screamed in fear.

They never dared look back.

As generations shifted, manners were forgotten. Worship ceased. Great smears of blood across barn doors, always on a black moon, tried to warn them. They paid no heed to the babbling elders, nor the missing livestock. These things happen.

But when the children went missing, leaves and moss left in their place, they worried. Too late. Too lost. Too much hunger festered.

The Green Lady would have her due.

Kimberly Rei

Kim has taught writing workshops and edited novels for Authors You May Recognize. She has three published short stories and has become a greedy beast, hungry for more. She currently lives in Tampa Bay, Florida with her beautiful, supportive wife and an abundance of gorgeous beaches to explore.

Website: studio-rei.mailchimpsites.com

 

 

Disastrous Intentions

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by Andrew Kurtz

 

I have existed undetectable since the beginning of time and will remain so for all eternity.

A meteor didn’t eradicate the dinosaurs as is believed, but the venomous breath emanating from my hundred mouths suffocated the worthless beasts to extinction.

My thousand tentacles dragging the Titanic to its watery grave were blamed on a mere iceberg.

The intense luminosity from my fifty eyes caused the Hindenburg to transform into a fiery coffin, not weather conditions or mechanical failure.

My sights are now set on you. Don’t worry, your demise will be attributed to mechanical issues.

Enjoy your flight.

Andrew Kurtz

Andrew Kurtz is an up-and-coming horror author who writes very graphic and violent short stories which have appeared in numerous horror anthologies.

Since childhood, he has loved horror films and literature.

His favorite authors are Stephen King, Clive Barker, H.G. Wells, Richard Matheson, Edgar Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, and Ray Bradbury.

 

 

Access to Your Heart

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by Andreas Flögel

 

When he woke up, his chest hurt. As usual, she had immobilised him with handcuffs and ropes. But something was new.

“Have a look.” She helped him lift his head. A zipper was sewn into the flesh of his breast. She grinned.

“When I open it, I can see your heart beating.” The ball gag prevented him from asking, but she knew him well enough. “Why? Controlling your body isn’t all. I want access to your heart. See it, touch it, and eventually squeeze it till it stops.”

Even the gag could not hide the big smile on his face.

Andreas Flögel

Andreas Flögel writes short stories in different genres. You can find his fiction in German magazines and several anthologies.

More about him and his work: www.dr-dings.de