Tag Archive for: drabble

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

Putting Yourself in Your Work

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by Jonathan Tolstedt

The contractor pointed out three places where nails I had driven into studs had broken through the sides of the noggins. Three nails out of how many thousands I had put into this house?

He told me to fix them and went on about how he puts a part of himself into every house he builds.

“I understand, Terry,” I said. I picked up the nail gun, pressed it to his forehead, and drove three 3” ring shank nails into him.

And, true to Terry’s wishes, I left a piece of him in every house I built from then on.

Jonathan Tolstedt

Jonathan Tolstedt is a patent agent by day and evolving writer by night. He has previously published a short horror story (2018) and had three of his 100-word horror stories accepted for publication in recent Dark Moments calls for Black Hare Press (2024).

Rule One

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by Stephen Herczeg

I can’t believe she did it again. Sixth time this week.

Rule One: Always expect someone is leaving the elevator.

Does she care? No.

Every time the doors open, in she charges, regardless of whether you’re getting out or not.

She’s like a virus. Others drawn by her stupidity follow her in trapping you inside. I always have to fight to get out.

But, today, I fixed things.

We were both waiting for the lift. The doors opened. No lift. Just the yawning chasm of the shaft.

I pushed. Her screams were delightful.

She won’t barge in on me anymore.

Stephen Herczeg

Stephen is an IT Geek based in Canberra, Australia. He has been writing for over twenty years and has completed a couple of dodgy novels, sixteen feature length screenplays, and numerous short stories and scripts.

His horror work has been featured in numerous anthologies. He has also had numerous Sherlock Holmes stories published.

 

 

Total Immersion

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by Kristin Lennox

Doug’s head snapped forward as he woke with a snort; the greasy pizza box in his lap fell to the floor. He squinted at the sun streaming through the tiny basement windows: mid-afternoon? But what day?

Doug cracked his neck and set his controller on the desk…or tried.

The gamepad was stuck to his palm, fingers welded to the buttons. Confusion yielded to agony as the headset bore into his skull; the chair rippled beneath him, tendrils of fabric weaving into flesh.

As forearms and chair arms melded, a progress bar appeared in Doug’s peripheral vision:

“Integration: 78% complete”

Kristin Lennox

 

Reality Bites

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by Bridget Holland

Gabby smacked her torch against the hydra’s severed neck. Flesh sizzled. The air stank.

“Last head!” Luke called through the murk.  “Keep up!”

As she lunged forward, a coil clamped onto her shoulder. She fell, swamp water closing over her head. Her health points flashed red.

Blackness.

***

Her mother, shaking her shoulder—that explained the coil.

“Dinner, Gabby! I called you twice already.” Mum wrinkled her nose. “Something smells.”

“That’s the swamp. This new VR suit is dope. Full sensory.”

Mum snorted. “Dinner. Now!”

Gabby peeled the suit off. The stench intensified.

Leeches—blood-filled, satiated—dropped from her arm.

Bridget Holland

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

Officer, It Was Just a Game

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by Crystal N. Ramos

I didn’t do it. She was my daughter, officer. I was playing some kind of new VR game. Really immersive.

See, you run around stealing cars and stuff and try to evade the law. The game has this mechanic where you can pick up a prostitute, gain health, and then kill her to get your money back.

I was just playing a game… No, I don’t know the brand or where the headset is. You ripped it off my head when you tackled me, didn’t you? This blood? You must have smashed my nose or something… What do you mean it’s hers?

Crystal N. Ramos

Crystal N. Ramos lives with her husband and two children in Georgia, USA. She has won the Maggie Award for Excellence in Prepublished Romantic Fiction twice and has an MA in Professional Writing from Kennesaw State University. Some of her shorter work has appeared in Rescued Hearts: A Hidden Acres Anthology, Stygian Lepus Issue 5, and The Dr T. J. Eckleburg Review. In her imaginary spare time, she likes to knit, cross-stitch, and play Minecraft. You can find her on Facebook.

Facebook: @crystalnramos

Derek Levels Up

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by Grace Quon

Derek grabbed the shotgun from the table. Six shells. Guttural snarls erupted in the hallway. He burst the first zombie’s head open like a rotten melon, but the next one was already charging. Bring it on, assholes. A minute later, six festering corpses littered the floor.

TUTORIAL COMPLETED

What? ExtremeReality had hyped Zombie-geddon as a mind-blowing, life-changing event. Only five copies available—twenty million each. If the first mission didn’t deliver, they’d hear from Dad’s fucking lawyers tonight.

First, he’d sneak a beer, though. But on the kitchen table, there was a shotgun. Six shells. Snarls erupted in the hallway…

Grace Quon

Grace Quon grew up loving books and libraries. After a detour through a math degree and a career in high-tech, she’s once again exploring the world of story writing. You can find her online at:

Website: gracequon.weebly.com